Hiding in Plain Sight
by Romany Chic
Summary: A young girl, orphaned on Crescentia years ago, seeks to escape and find her own place in the galaxy. The only way to break free is to hide her gender, and to serve as the cabin boy on a departing ship. Unfortunately, the first mate discovers her secret..
1. Prologue

**-PROLOGUE-**

In a dimly lit room, at the top of a creaky wooden staircase, in an old tavern on the wrong side of town, a young woman stared at herself in a dirty, cracked mirror. It was unusual for this particular girl to waste time in self-contemplation. Every day she wore the same dirty clothes, and the same dirty face always looked back at her, so she rarely bothered to glance at the mirror on the wall. She knew that the face was pale and drawn, with high cheekbones and large blue eyes, the sunken cheeks below them giving her a malnourished appearance. But these features were not what had her attention now. It was her hair, once long and curling, that now lay flat against her head and just reached her jaw line. She had hacked it off moments before with a rather dull knife, and the act had completed her transformation. In the past few weeks, as she lay in the dark and plotted her escape, it had crossed her mind many times that, for once, she was glad to have no truly feminine features. Her lashes were not curled like clock springs, nor her chest ample, and she had little feminine figure to flatter, even had her dresses not been 3 sizes too big. Her hair had been her one defining feature, and now it was gone. The girl drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Gone too was Nicole. In her place stood Nick, the cabin boy.

Nicole hated lying. Nick would _be_ a lie. There were so many things that she had to change. Her gender didn't bother her as much. The men in the tavern always managed to make her regret having been born a girl anyway. And boys' clothes were more practical. The loss of her hair was what bothered her most. She had been so proud of it. Silly to think that such a small thing had been so important to her. It was only hair; and it would grow back. But it was the one thing Nicole had liked about herself. _Well, that should make it that much easier to leave Nicole behind, shouldn't it?_ She asked herself. Another deep breath, and then a silent flurry of activity. She shoved the dull knife into her belt, pulled on her jacket and hat (both stolen from customers sleeping down in the bar), and tossed her knapsack over her shoulder. She opened the door to the hallway just a crack, and looked to make sure that no one was awake and wandering around. Then she slipped out into the hallway like a shadow, silent and hidden in the dark. She stepped down the stairs, avoiding each and every creaking spot that she had committed to memory in the last weeks, and crept across the open room. She had to step over a few sleeping drunks, but they didn't bother her—she knew that nothing short of an explosion could wake them now. Then she was at the door, and the thumping of her heart in her chest nearly drowned out all of her other senses; she swung the door slowly inward and slipped through it, whispering goodbye to her previous life.

She walked cautiously out into the street as the twin suns rose slowly over the distant horizon. Breathing deeply of the fresh air, she savored the sweet taste of freedom before heading to the docks that would be Nick's ticket off Montressor Spaceport.

A/N: Please let me know if you want to read more. I am a little stuck after this point, and I need to know that there are people who want to read more. I know that it's only a prologue, but if you can, please review. Also, to any copyright hounds: a different version of this story was posted before, under the name Lunachick. That was me, and this is my story, so don't yell at me about stealing. I just forgot the password to that account...

Read more soon in

**-CHAPTER 1: ABOARD THE SHIP-**


	2. Chapter 1: ABOARD THE SHIP

A/N: okay, so I had to redo this chapter again. Whatever.

I don't own anything from the movie. But Nick © me

**-CHAPTER 1: ABOARD TH****E SHIP-**

**- 3**** days later-**

Nick stared around the ship in wonder. Three days of lying, begging, pleading, and paperwork had led her to this; the grandest ship on the docks. It was huge: longer and wider than any ship nearby, and from what she had glanced of the inside, much more comfortably outfitted. She still had no idea how her luck had brought her this far, or even what mission she was to be a part of. But as long as she was able to stay on this gorgeous ship, she would do just about anything they could ask of her! Suddenly, a loud crash from behind her brought Nick back to her senses. An alien had run into her, and had spilled several crates worth of precious purps all over the deck. Suddenly, his face was inches from her own.

"What're ye doin', standin' 'ere gogglin' as though we've got all th' time innna world before launch? Get yer sorry arse down in the galley where it belongs!"

"Yessir," Nick mumbled and ducked aside. But not before the deckhand launched a swing at the side of her head, which she dodged with the ease of many years' practice. The deckhand's face reddened with embarrassment at the miss, and he redoubled his efforts to get a hit in. Unfortunately, Nick had sidestepped to evade the first swing, and stepped back to escape the second…

…and tripped over the dropped crate and landed on the spilled fruits. The seat of her pants was completely soaked in purp juice. Even more unfortunately, it was at this exact moment that a young man walked down from the fo'c'sle to check up on the whole mess. A very _handsome_ young man…

"What's going on here? Who spilled all of the purps all over the deck?"

The deckhand who had been laughing at Nick's tumble straightened and pointed a crooked, knobbly finger at the cabin boy still sitting in the smashed purps. An expression of disapproval crossed the young man's lightly tanned face. "Is that so, Mr. Hobb? I believe it was you that I assigned to carry those crates up. Are you telling me that you made the cabin boy do your duties?" Mr. Hobb quickly shook his head no. "So you blamed the cabin boy for your mess? Is that it?" Again, Mr. Hobb shook his head. The young man turned to Nick and asked, "What really happened, then?"

Nick swallowed hard. "It was my fault, sir," she started out. "I ran into him, and he dropped the crate. I'll help clean up…" her sentence trailed into silence as she realized that she had spoken in her normal voice, which sounded so obviously feminine to her own ears that she wanted to bite her tongue in half. How could she have blown her cover so soon? But the young man didn't seem to notice.

"That won't be necessary. Mr. Hobbs can handle it. If you will follow me, we'll get you down to galley and settled in with the cook." He walked away, leaving Nick to trail behind, slightly confused.

"But sir," she called after him, once she had caught up. "Why am I not cleaning the deck? It was my fault—" she was cut off when the young man stopped abruptly and spun to face her. His expression was severe, and his light blue eyes flashed with annoyance.

"First of all, I am not the captain. I am the first mate. So no more of this 'sir' stuff. You can call me Mr. Hawkins if you must, but I prefer that my deckhands call me Jim. Second of all, you have to trust me. I am not stupid, nor am I blind or deaf, so if I make a judgment, don't argue with me. I saw him swing at you, and I saw you dodge it. Well done, by the way. But just because he didn't connect doesn't mean he wouldn't have. So think of it as his punishment for brawling." And the conversation ended as suddenly as it had begun, with the young man—Jim— turning and continuing down to the galley, and Nick trotting behind.

Down in the galley kitchens, Nick was introduced to the cook, Mr. Giff. He was a hulking creature, human in appearance except for a second set of arms. He was tall and bulky, muscular in the arms and shoulders but with a bit of a belly in the front. He had thick, gray hair and a well-oiled mustache that he twisted up at the ends, and as Nick watched him bustle around the kitchen, the glinting of light off of the rings on his twenty fingers could not be missed. Overall the impression he gave was one of pomposity and ego. Nick's stomach gave a little shiver as she realized that she had taken an immediate disliking to the man, and that he radiated an impression that the feeling was mutual. The first mate gave no indication that he sensed the animosity.

"This is Mr. Giff, our cook. Mr. Giff, this is… Sorry, what's your name?"

"Nick," she mumbled, without taking her eyes from the cook.

"This is Nick. He is to help you out in the kitchen as well as to tend the rest of the ship. You will be responsible for him during our voyage. Is that clear?"

Both nodded their heads. Jim shifted and turned to Nick. "Follow me." And he turned and left the galley, once again with Nick forced to trot along behind.

Once on deck, a shrill whistle sounded, and all hands rushed hither and thither to their assigned ranks. They formed ranks, and as Nick watched, the noisy deck fell silent and the Captain emerged from his quarters. When she caught sight of the fierce looking man, Nick took an instinctive step to hide herself behind Jim. He turned his head to look at her with a bemused expression clear on his face. She blushed slightly, and reemerged into visibility.

"As you all know," boomed the captain, "this voyage has been surrounded by a thin veil of discretion. Many of you do not know our purpose, or our destination and that has been intentional. This mission is important, and has to be dealt with delicately. But now I will reveal to all of you our passenger, who will be treated with the utmost respect and favor by all on board. Am I understood?"

The gathered crew murmured their assent. Then the captain turned and nodded to an unseen onlooker, stepped back and made room for the honored guest…

…who proceeded to make her way to the railing, and to look out over her subjects gathered below.

Nick held her breath with sheer shock as she looked at the Princess Alanna, granddaughter to the Empress of the Etherium, and heir to the throne.

Then she released her seized lungs in a huff of disgust as this revered person made doe eyes at the oblivious first mate, who was clapping distractedly along with the rest of them.

Suddenly the captain shouted, "Enough groveling you flea-bitten sacks of dirt! We've got a ship to launch!"

And just like that, the applause died. The princess was bustled off to her cabin, the deckhands raced to their positions and Nick's head spun as she tried to absorb everything. She realized in a flash that Jim had left her side, and she felt very lost. She had been trailing behind him all day, and now she didn't have a clue where she ought to be. She searched the crowd of spacers, but his face didn't appear, and so she drifted around the deck watching the crew prepare for launch. It was really quite amazing what these louts could accomplish when they worked together. In a matter of moments, the solar sails had unfurled like so many golden blossoms, and were glowing with their stores of solar energy. The captain's shouted orders seemed superfluous, because the men were allowing their expertise to show. Soon the ship lifted from the dock—straight up into the air, and losing gravity simultaneously. Nick's heavy boots left the hard wooden deck, and she rose into the air. It felt strange and wonderful, and for a moment, Nick's worries took a backseat to the sensation of weightlessness. Then she heard a distant shout, and a _clunk_, and she dropped back to the deck, landing like a cat.

She looked up to where the captain was standing near the wheel and saw Jim smile at her. It was a real smile, full of shared excitement and joy, and she gladly returned it.

------------

Jim Hawkins surveyed the R.L.S. Galaxy with no small amount of pride. He may have been only the first mate, but his success in preparing the ship for launch made him feel as though the ship were his own. Besides, he was first mate in name only. This was to be his last voyage before he was promoted to captain, provided all went well, and he would be handling most matters for the captain. It was an anxious business, with his trying to remember the figuring and rationing that he had learned at the Academy and promptly forgotten as soon as he had graduated. Possibly before. And then there was the old edginess around an unfamiliar crew. The only thing Silver had taught him that he wished he could unlearn. The old spacer had taught him many valuable things about being in space, but mutiny had not been his favorite lesson. As the ship lifted from the dock, Jim felt the now-familiar sense of weightlessness, and recalled his first experience with a grin. He looked down onto the deck and saw the new cabin boy floating with a look of sheer joy on his face. Jim smiled with similar sentiment, and was reluctantly impressed when the gravity kicked in and the boy landed in an expert crouch. _Not bad for a first timer,_ thought Jim. He smiled in approval at the boy, who grinned back.

Out of nowhere, a tiny pink blob zoomed in a circle around Nick's head, chittering happily in a high pitched language. He ducked, startled, and turned his head rapidly to catch a glimpse of the pest. But when Morph stopped and nuzzled against his cheek, another smile came to his face. Then Morph backed up, and swiftly transformed into a miniature of the new cabin boy. Jim sighed and shook his head slightly, smiling in spite of himself. He looked up at the captain to make sure he wasn't needed, and set off to retrieve his pet.

------------

Nick stared at the tiny miniature of herself floating in the air in front of her. The little pink creature had imitated her exactly, and some inner part of her was relieved to see that she looked very much like a boy, while the rest of her marveled at the shapeshifter. A sudden shout from the direction of the fo'c'sle startled her, and the feeling passed. She turned to see Jim walking towards her. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Sorry, sir. I'll be heading down to the galley," Nick started to retreat, but Jim stopped her.

"Not you. Him," and he pointed his finger at the miniature Nick, which abandoned its new form and became a pink blob once again. It flew over the Jim, and nuzzled his cheek, making whistling noises of contentment. "Sorry about him. This is Morph. And he must really like you. That was his special trick."

"What is he? And where did he come from?" Nick asked, feeling her curiosity rise.

"He's a… well, a morph! I don't know where he's from. The man I got him from said he found him on Proteus One, but I don't know if that's where he's from. I got him on my first voyage." Morph chirruped happily, and morphed into Silver, and swept a bow, then into an angry looking Captain Amelia. Nick gasped.

"You _knew_ Captain Amelia Smollett? The last female spacer?"

Jim couldn't help but smile with pride. "I know her still. She's a close friend of the family. Her name is Amelia Doppler now. And if you ever run into her, I'd advise you not to call her by that particular euphemism."

"Oh. Sorry."

"She still rages whenever anyone brings up that idiot council. Or that 'sorry gaggle of lowlife scoundrels' as she prefers to call them."

"I don't understand why they outlawed females," Nick began cautiously. "It was Captain Amelia who defeated the Procyon Armada at the Battle of Cygnus Cross. And she led that expedition to Treasure Planet—"

"Which subsequently blew up, destroying all evidence of Flint's trove, or the lost civilization of the Forefathers. Plus there was the little issue of the mutiny, and the escape of Long John Silver. It was not a successful mission by anyone's standards." Except his own, and Amelia's.

"So the council outlawed females because of one failed mission?" Nick asked.

The captain shouted from the fo'c'sle. "Well, yes and no. We'll finish this later." And he turned and rushed back to the captain. Morph lingered with Nick, looking at her intently. She looked back at him, wondering what he was thinking. He flew up and licked her cheek and whistled happily. She turned and headed down to the galley. Time to get to work.


	3. Chapter 2: THE COOK

A/N: Okay, here's chapter 2! Enjoy, R&R, please let me know what you think! Oh, and make sure to check back on chapter 1 because I changed it just a little and you probably should read the tweaked version…

Treasure planet characters©Disney, Nick Morgan©me

**-CHAPTER 2: THE COOK****-**

Jim stood on the deck of the Galaxy, admiring the Etherium. Its peace and beauty never failed to impress him, and he loved to watch the roiling masses of color that represented novas, solar flares, nebulas, and even whole galaxies. The serenity of the universe calmed him, and the silence was welcome after a long day of hard work.

_CRASH!_

The smash of something highly fragile and not likely to survive the impact echoed up from the galley, followed shortly by a roar of anger. Jim sighed, knowing it would fall to him to settle the mess. He headed down the galley steps and was met by a comical scene. He smirked as he watched the cook, purple-faced with anger, stare down at the cabin boy, who stared right back, petulant and unrelenting. A smashed glass dish lay in innumerable pieces on the ground between them.

"What's going on here?" he asked, loudly enough to interrupt their death-stare contest.

"This clumsy oaf dropped me best dish! I use it all the time! I don't know how I can be expected to keep working with this idiot, this brainless twit, this—"

"Oh, stop already!" Nick interrupted, rolling his eyes. "You know as well as I do that I didn't have a finger on it! You held it out, and then dropped it. I never touched it."

"That's because you pulled your hand away! He lies, Mr. Hawkins! The boy is an ogre, unable to perform the simplest task! For the last two weeks he has been ruining my cooking, breaking my dishes and annoying me constantly. I cannot be responsible for him any longer! Either he is moved to someone else's watch, or I find myself a new crew!"

"Good luck finding someone who'll take you, you fat, pigheaded—"

"Enough!" shouted a voice from behind Jim. All three of them turned around to find the captain there, with a very aggravated expression on his unshaven face. He looked slightly rumpled with sleep, but even in this state he exuded command. Jim saw Nick shrink slightly, trying to hide. The cook noticed it too, and his face became triumphant. Jim knew that Nick could never argue with the captain the way the cook was bound to, and the cabin boy would take the blame for the ordeal. He tried to make a sly exit, but the captain fixed him in place with a forceful glare.

"Mr. Giff, what has happened that has you vowing to leave the ship?"

"Sir, this cabin boy has been nothing but a menace she the launch! He hasn't learned anything; he can't even boil water! He can't skin a purp, the dishes are still dirty once he's washed them, and h breaks everything he touches! Sir, I can't do my job properly with this oaf on my heels! I would rather work alone."

"Cabin boy—"

"Nick," he interrupted softly.

"Pardon?"

"My name is Nick. Please don't call me 'cabin boy'," he said, in the same soft tone.

The captain looked shocked at this impertinence. "How dare you speak to me like that? I am your captain. You do as I say, and you answer to what I call you!"

"Yes, sir," he relented, "I just thought you mightn't have known my name, so I thought I'd offer it."

"Well all right then. We must deal with the matter of finding you a new post on ship. You have no skill as a deckhand, so you won't be doing that. But perhaps…" The captain looked curiously at Jim. "… perhaps our captain-in-training could use some practice as a tutor."

"Wha—me? Sir, with all due respect, I don't think that's—"

"I didn't ask what you thought, Mr. Hawkins," said the captain decisively. "From now on, this boy is in your charge."

Jim and Nick made simultaneous sounds of protest, but the captain turned and strode from the galley, deaf to their objections.

Jim looked down at the boy, who looked back with an ironic expression. He sighed, and walked up the stairs to the deck. He had almost reached the top when he realized Nick hadn't followed.

"Are you coming?"

Nick responded lazily, following as far behind Jim as he could get away with.

Jim groaned inwardly. This was going to be a very long trip.

------------

Nick walked very slowly, carefully and deliberately placing each foot in front of the other. She told herself she was doing it becaue it was aggravating Jim, (it was, and he wasn't hiding it well) but the truth was that her heart was pounding and her adrenaline was sky-high. Slowing her steps to try to slow her heart, that was all she could focus on. If she let herself think about anything else, she might let her mind wander to the fact that she was currently headed to the first mate's cabin… his _bedroom_…

She glanced up from her boots to look at the man leading the way. He was very handsome, with brown hair cut close to his head in a standard issue navy cut, except behind his ears, and around the lower part of the back of his head, where is was trimmed almost to his scalp. He wore a loose fitting navy blue shirt that hung just right on his broad shoulders, and his pants were light brown, and cut to end slightly below the tops of his well-scuffed boots. His back was still to her, but she knew that if he were to turn around, and to look at her face, she would see those light gray-blue eyes that were so expressive. It wasn't often that his face betrayed what he thought; Jim usually wore an expression of boredom or frustration. But even his carefully neutral features couldn't hide his eyes, which revealed his true thoughts.

Then her traitorous mind leapt to what she had seen a few days earlier, when Jim had removed his shirt to assist the riggers with the solar sails. Her face flamed, and she tried not to think about his tanned, well muscled torso… and failed miserably in the attempt.

Suddenly, Jim stopped walking. It was all Nick could do to keep from running into him.

"Watch it!" he snapped.

"_You_- …fine. Whatever." she retorted.

Jim sighed heavily. Nick nearly mimicked, just to mock him, but decided against it.

"Come on in," said Jim wearily.

"Well don't act all happy about it. You might make a person feel good. Look, I'm no happier about this than you. I'm fine down in the hold with the other mates. There is no logical reason for me to—"

"Shut up. You're my responsibility now, and if you cause any more trouble because I let you out of my sight, I'm gonna have to pay for it. So for now, until you prove you're not gonna go off and break stuff and get in trouble, you're staying here. There's a hammock in the closet for you. The bunk is mine. Now I've shown you which room is mine. It's the second one down, in case you weren't paying attention. The one before is the captain's; the one after is the princess's maids room. After that is the princess's room. You go in there, you die. Got it?"

"You mean she's still on the ship? I hadn't seen her, so I thought she'd gone. Like we were a decoy or something."

"No, she's here. She can't interact with the crew, so she stays in her room. No more questions. Go down to the hold, get your stuff and get right back here. No stops, no mischief. Got it?"

"Yes!" she snapped. "Geez, I'm not as stupid as the cook said. I'm capable of understanding orders. Thanks for the vote of faith, _Mr. Hawkins_." His name fell from her lips absolutely drenched in disdain.

And so Nick stormed off to the hold to fetch her tiny knapsack; her heart racing with anger and trepidation.

------------

The next morning at sunrise, Jim swung his feet out of the bunk, pulled on his boots, and shrugged on a jacket, all without opening his eyes. When he did crack them open, he found Nick sitting in the hammock wide awake. And staring at him.

Jim groaned. "How are you awake? I need ten glasses of purp juice and a full breakfast before I can even open my eyes all the way."

"I woke up this early back… where I used to live. By the way, did you know that you talk in your sleep? Who's Silver?"

Jim stared at the kid. "Just some guy I used to know. Why?"

"Well, you were talking to him. Asking him how he's been and stuff. Don't look at me like that; I didn't _ask _ to hear you." He blushed as though he had been caught listening at a door.

"Whatever." Jim found himself sliding back into his old habits of speech. What was it about this kid?

"Yeah well… fine. I was just trying to start a conversation." He looked at Jim with a pained expression. He took a deep breath, opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, hesitated, and then spoke. "I'm sorry I was rude last night. I was just fired up about the cook blaming me. I'm not really that clumsy, but it just seemed like everything I touched down there jumped out of my hand. I couldn't get the hang of being back in the kitchen. I'm not sorry that the captain pulled me out, but I am sorry that you got stuck with me."

_Dammit_ thought Jim. _Now I feel guilty._ He covered his sympathy with a gruff response. "Oh stop. You sound like a girl." The boy couldn't have looked more horrified if Jim had sprouted tentacles from his face. "What? It was a joke." The boy laughed weakly. "Anyway, it's not your fault the captain stuck you with me. So let's just try to make the best of it. I have to show the captain that I can be a tutor, so you're gonna have to learn everything there is to know. That way maybe you and I can get out of this with our dignity."

"What?!?" Nick was stunned.

"I'm gonna make you the best damn cabin boy the captain's ever seen. I'm gonna work you till you drop."

"Don't do me any favors," he retorted.

Jim laughed until he nearly cried. "Oh, you can be sure of that, lad. You can be sure of that."


	4. Chapter 3: THE CABIN BOY

A/N: Thanks soooo much to all of my reviewers!! If it wasn't for you I would probably have scrapped this thing during my epic battle with writer's block! So thanks to Christian4Life, Sky Girl Butterfly, BlueEyedGunSlinger, MissSwann91, Ukee Chick, prettylittlething, and xHazelEyesx!!

**-CHAPTER 3: THE CABIN BOY-**

For the next few weeks of the voyage, every time Nick saw Jim, she made a concerted effort to turn around and run. The few times she escaped, he hauled her back to continue whatever menial task he had conjured up for her displeasure. She had to swab the deck several times a day, holystone it once a week, straighten the various messes the crew would leave lying about, take her turn in the crow's nest, and help the cook to serve the meals, even though the preparation of those meals was no longer her responsibility.

It was while she was on her hands and knees in a great puddle of water, scrubbing the deck with a rough brush that Jim came up behind her and cleared his throat. She froze in the act of drawing the brush back to herself, but only for a moment. Then she continued scrubbing as though she had not heard him. He cleared his throat again, more pointedly. "I'm sorry, sir, but I seem to recall that my instructions were to scrub the deck spotless, and not to allow myself to be distracted," she responded without looking up from her task. "If you don't mind, I'll just finish up here and then I'll be available for a little chat. Say, three hours from now?" Her tone was light, but her voice was hard, nothing but Jim's familiarity with this type of response giving away her irritation.

"Get up," he replied sternly. She froze again; then threw the brush into the bucket with a thud and a splash. She whirled on him, and stared angrily up into his face. She had learned to loathe his little ways of tormenting her; waiting until she was nearly finished or barely started with a task before heaping the rest of the night's chores onto her. It seemed like the latter this time.

She crossed her arms over her chest, shifted her stance to one of defiance, and tapped her foot impatiently. It was a very good thing that she had a boy's slight build, or her current stance would have had her hips jutting out in a way that could not have been concealed or ignored. "What?" she demanded.

"We're putting Hodges on this. You're serving dinner in the captain's quarters tonight," he replied evenly, turning to leave.

A look of horror crossed her face, and she darted around to block his intended exit. "Whoa, no way. That's your job. You take the captain his dinner every night. I'm not even allowed near the guy. Why am I suddenly doing your work too?"

"Oh, you'd rather scrub the deck? Because that can be arranged for."

"No, but I wanna know how it is that you're skiving off and leaving me to do the work! How's come I gotta serve the captain?"

"Because he and I are having dinner with the princess. As the cabin boy, it falls to you to become the default serving boy. And that means the whole meal. You said you worked in a kitchen, right?"

"I never said that!"

"Oh, not in so many words. But you said it. So now you're serving. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly," she spat, glaring daggers at him as she stormed off to their cabin to change her clothes.

------------

"Well, I am most certainly grateful for your presence tonight, Princess. It gladdens my old heart to think that a young beauty such as yourself would deign to dine with a greybeard like me," the captain laughed, rubbing the short beard on his square jaw for emphasis.

"No, indeed Captain Trelawney, it is my delight to dine with such a noble figure as yourself," the princess purred, tossing her long, waving blond hair over her shoulder, exposing the bare skin there and glancing at Jim."So how many daring voyages have you two survived on this old tub?"

Jim coughed. "Actually, this is our first voyage together. I usually work with Captain Livesey, but I was specially commissioned for this assignment because I had no experience as an escort, and I needed the credits before I could become a captain. But I have found the captain quite agreeable and a man of character."

"Except for when I saddled you with that obnoxious cabin boy. You didn't like me so much then!" the captain chuckled heartily, and the princess giggled.

Said cabin boy had just entered behind the captain with the tray bearing wine, water and bread, and had shot the captain a startled look. But it was quickly replaced by one dripping with venom, and Jim felt a tiny prickle run down his spine. "No, indeed, I wasn't happy at first," he flinched inwardly as he felt rather than saw that the hateful glare had been transferred to him; the cabin boy still frozen in place in the doorway. "But the cabin boy has proven a hard worker, and I couldn't be more pleased with his effort. He has exceeded my expectations." The boy in the doorway stared at him for a moment, looking utterly confused. Then he seemed to recall his purpose for being there, and he moved toward the table.

Neither the captain nor the princess had noticed the tense moment, but the captain, upon spotting the boy, declared, "Now Mr. Hawkins, be careful. Don't want the cabin boy to think he'll be getting out of any work!" Nick rolled his eyes subtly, and Jim smiled slightly.

"No but it is always a welcome thing to hear praise. Did you know, Captain, that I began as a cabin boy before my first year at the Academy?"

"Indeed, I had heard something of that nature," interrupted the princess. "Was it dreadful, working for a nasty cook and slaving away on that ship?" the princess seemed to have forgotten that she was in the very same room with one who was doing exactly what she had described, as she was describing it. She only had eyes for Jim.

"No, in fact, the lessons I learned and the sparse praise I received for my hard work were what drove me to the Academy. I knew that it would be worth it, because I had learned the value of my effort." Jim looked briefly up at the cabin boy, hoping he'd realized that the words of encouragement were as much for him as for the princess. Nick shot him a strange look before he backed out of the doorway.

------------

After the dinner had drawn to a natural close, Nick fled the kitchen to the deck, where she climbed into the rigging and made herself a comfortable little hiding place about a third of the way up into the shrouds. She climbed the ropes like a cat, feeling truly at ease only in the strong knots and thick hemp. It was the one place on the ship where no one had criticized her work, where she was as capable as any other hand.

She sat, staring off into space for a long time, the cool ethereal breeze lifting the shorter hair that framed her face and whipping it across her nose and mouth. She paid it no mind, instead replaying the few words the first mate had said to her earlier that evening.

_"But the cabin boy has proved a hard worker, and I couldn't be more pleased with his effort.He has exceeded my expectations."_

Was he trying to get her out of trouble with the captain? Was he trying to make himself look good; as though any success on her part would reflect on him? Or did he (and she shuddered to think it) actually mean his words?

She sat lost in thought for a long time. Well past her usual lights out. When the first night watched had changed places with the second night watch, Jim wandered up on deck, wondering if his cabin boy had managed to kill himself, or fall overboard, or get locked in the brig.

When he saw where the boy was, he was frozen with surprise. Not shock, because his own spirit recognized the meditative and slightly angry look on his face, having worn it a few years before. But definitely surprise, because the boy was certainly more skilled in the rigging than Jim had been at that age. Nick seemed very comfortable in his spot well above the heads of those on deck, and Jim doubted that if the boy wanted to stay there, there was anything on the ship that could get him loose.

Even so, he was careful not to startle him. But he needn't have worried.

"Did you mean that?" came the voice from the darkness above.

"What?" asked Jim, though he was pretty sure he knew what the boy meant.

"That stuff you said in front of the captain and your noble lady. Did you mean it, or was it all for show? I'm not stupid, you know."

"I meant it. You've done a good job. You may complain too much, but you do your work, and you do it well."

There was a long, thick silence. "Don't trust her." Nick said softly.

"What?" Jim was caught off-guard.

"Don't trust that woman. She's too much like the _ladies_ back home." The subtle emphasis on the word made Jim look up, startled. It was clear that he didn't mean nobility.

"You could get in trouble for that! Don't talk about her that way," he hissed. "If someone heard you, you could be killed!"

"Never trust a woman, Jim. Believe me, they know what they want, and they know how to get it. And they'll cross you six ways to the spaceport to get what they want. Promise me you'll never trust a woman."

Jim, for once in his life, was at a loss. There was no response to the pain creeping into the boy's voice. It sounded as though he had been crossed, but Jim would have thought he was too young for that.

"How old are you?" he ventured.

The boy leapt down from the rigging and rounded on Jim. "Promise me you'll never trust a woman."

"I—I can't promise that."

Nick glared at him. "One day, you'll give your heart to someone, and she'll make you think you're the luckiest son of a gun alive. Then, odds are, she'll rip your heart out and skip off with another feller, leaving you broke and dead in an alley. If that's what you want, be my guest. But that princess over there is the same as every other spaceport floozy that ever came through the tavern back home. It's what we—they do. It's what _we_ have to deal with. Don't ever trust one. You're better than that."

"Not all women are like that, Nick." Jim said flatly.

"Oh, is that so? Let me guess, your sainted mother?" he rejoined, his voice dripping with disdain.

"In fact, yes. My father did exactly what you just said, only to my mother. So it's not women, it's people. There are people out there like that. There's no rule for trust; there's only ways to protect yourself. You have to learn to trust people sometime, Nick. I'm not saying to give up your defenses, but learn that trust can be earned. You shouldn't rule out happiness because there's a risk of pain."

Nick snorted his disgust, and stomped off to the cabin. When Jim reached the room later, the boy was turned in his hammock to face the wall, effectively cutting off any chance for discussion.

------------

Nick awoke in the wee hours of the next morning to a seizing pain in her abdomen. She rolled out of her hammock, and crept silently out of the cabin and down to the water closet. It was as she feared. Her monthlies had tapered recently, whether from lack of nutrition or any variety of other factors. But now they were back in force, and she was in a very tight spot. She snuck down to the cargo hold, rifling through the various crates and barrels, trying to find old clothing, or scraps of fabric. Finally she struck gold, coming across a stash of mechanic's rags that seemed new. She took only a few, figuring she could sneak back for more later. She revisited the water closet, and then returned to her room. She glanced over at Jim as she slipped back into her hammock, and a wave of guilt washed over her. She knew she had been irrational last night, and now she knew why.

She knew there was no reason to feel like she had reached her wit's end. But it was the sudden stress of dinner last night, the shock of Jim's words last night, and the roiling mass of emotion that seemed to flare at a moment's notice, the by-product of her monthly aggravation. A sudden thought occurred to Nick. She had handled herself well enough that morning, but she had also had the benefit of most of the crew being sound asleep belowdecks. What happened when they—and Jim—awoke? She would have to spend every waking moment concealing her current, ah, _situation_. And what if she did a poor job with the rags, and one morning Jim awoke to see blood soaking her pants? Or she ran out of rags? She groaned quietly. So many things that could go wrong, and so many eyes to witness them if they did.

This was going to be the worst few months of her life.


	5. Chapter 4: SECRETS

**CHAPTER 4: SECRETS**

The next morning, Nick awoke to the dawn streaming in through the tiny porthole. She blinked a few times, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and moved to get up. She swung her legs down out of the hammock, and glanced over to Jim's buck. A pair of steely blue eyes pinned her in place.

"I want to hear the whole story. Now." he said in a firm voice.

She regarded him for a few agonizingly silent seconds, and then replied.

"No."

"What do you mean?" he looked slightly shocked. "What you said last night was... out of line. And it was unexpected. But the issue is that unless you tell me where you were coming from, I'll have to report you for serious insubordination and an attack on the princess' honor. You can't go around making rude comments about the princess, and demanding ridiculous promises from senior officers. But I want to know why."

"Well I'm not gonna tell you, so you can just lock me in the brig for all I care." She retorted, flinging back her blanket and rising to stuff her boots onto her feet.

"That's what you'd get for insubordination. But that's not the punishment for sullying the princess's honor. You'd be flogged. On deck. In front of the entire crew."

Nick froze again, her back to Nick. She'd seen floggings in the town square on the Spaceport. It wasn't the whipping she feared, it was the stripping. They would take off her shirt, revealing her sex. She sat in horror for a few moments as she weighed her options. She hated herself for it, but the decision had been made for her.

"I hope you hate yourself for this as much as I hate you," she said by way of opening. Jim shifted uncomfortably. "I lived on the Spaceport for almost all of my life. My mother was a spaceport floozy and I don't have any idea who my father was, and neither did my mother. I loved my mother, but I don't know if she loved me. I don't know if she loved anyone. But she died of one of those rotting diseases the ladies pass around, and she left me to work off her debt at the tavern where we lived. I never got paid, and I never got a real meal. I ate what I stole from the kitchen and I lived in a room the innkeeper couldn't rent because there was a hole in the roof. I hated him, and every one of those fat rotten pigs that came to that tavern. They were all drunk, slobbering animals and they often lost control of their hands... they used to pinch the kitchen girls, and once or twice, they did worse. But the floozies were the worst. I saw them lead men on, and keep raiding their pockets night after night, and then dump 'em when they couldn't pay any more. By then the poor slogs were half in love with 'em, and they often took up a place at the bar to try to drown the pain. They were heartless bitches, and you can't trust 'em. That's why I said that. The princess... I didn't—I didn't want to go without sayin' something," she finished lamely. What was she doing?? She had almost blurted out _I didn't want to see you get hurt._ Where did that come from? She hated him!! He was blackmailing her! But a small part of her whispered that, while she may hate him, what she had witnessed in that tavern was more than she would wish on anyone. She grunted softly to herself in quiescence and shoved those thoughts into the back corner of her mind to rest among the cobwebs until she could devote more time to them.

"Are you happy now?" she demanded.

"No," he replied. "But I'm satisfied. You come from a hard life and I can't expect you to leave it behind. But _please_ hold your tongue in the future. I can't save you if someone else hears you."

"Whatever," she said flatly. "Like I care. You got what you wanted, but I don't want your pity. It gets me nowhere and it gets in the way. So just forget it." She stormed toward the door and flung it open, pausing briefly in the doorway. "And I never want to hear about it. You bring it up again, and one of us is gonna have to leave the ship. And if it's you, I can't promise it'll be pleasant."

"There you go again—listen, you can't just go around threatening me! It would be one thing if I actually believed you could harm me, but you're gonna get yourself grounded! And I don't mean the 'locked in your room' type of grounded. I mean the 'the captain's gonna chuck you planetside first chance he gets!"

"And what's that got to do with you? Did it ever occur to you that maybe I wanna get dropped planetside? Now that you've got my whole life's story at your disposal, I don't know if I wanna stay on board. So maybe I'll just go get myself marooned!"

"No, I've got a better idea than that." He glanced sideways at her from the bunk. "You're gonna take on my duties."

"You can't do that!" cried Nick. "That's illegal!"

Jim made a face that was half laughing and half serious. "Not my first mate duties," he answered condescendingly. "My duties to the princess."

Nick gaped. "What?" she asked blankly.

"Just for a little while. Till you've learned to hold your tongue. Clearly the last time I tried to buckle down on you, the message didn't get through. You were well enough behaved in front of the captain last night, and I can appreciate that, but you can't go around saying anything like that to anyone. So for the next week, you will take over waiting on the princess."

"I thought that's what her ladies maids were for," she retorted, recovering her senses somewhat.

"Not that kind of waiting on her," Jim had the grace to blush at Nick's misinterpretation. After all, he believed he was sending a fifteen-year-old boy, not a seventeen-year-old girl. "Just fetching the things she needs. She usually sends me off to get a book from the captain's stateroom, or to get her some water. Stupid things, really," and a look of confusion crossed his face as he wondered why she bothered him for these trifles to begin with. "But anyway, we'll be crossing the Magellenic Cloud soon, and the captain will need my help even more than usual. So I need you to take over waiting on the princess. It won't be much, but since she doesn't eat with the crew you'll have to bring her meals to her cabin, and to get her anything she asks for. You can handle that, right?"

"Not to whine or anything, but on top of my duties as cabin boy?? I dunno..."

"Well the princess comes first. But this is a punishment, remember? I won't trade your normal duties for this. You'll be expected to finish everything."

The boy made a face at Jim as he headed off to do his chores. Jim sighed and leaned back against the wall behind his bunk. That damned boy was making him crazy. Most of the cabin boys he'd ever had to deal with were shy, quiet, obedient little whelps. This one had a temper, and no control over his mouth. He was smart, and a quick learner, but his thinly veiled disdain was a barrier to anyone who tried to befriend or even get along with him. Jim knew that feeling; the suffocation that comes from resented authority. The trapped sensation that came with being reminded constantly that one is subservient to another. And his life on Montressor had been nothing compared to this boy's slavery.

The boy needed an outlet; a place where he could be his own master and succeed on his own. But there was precious little room for independence on a ship like this one... and then an idea struck Jim. His memories of the day-long adventure with Silver in the Legacy's longboat held all the promise of a similar cathartic effect for this boy. He made a mental note to check with the captain about his upcoming day off.

------------

Later that same day Nick found herself standing in the doorway to the princess's cabin, struggling with a precariously balanced tray of tea. She kicked open the door, and shouldered her way into the room, then stumbled across the room to the princess's writing desk, and plopped the tray onto it. All of this passed under the princess's silent, watchful gaze. When she had relieved herself of the tray, Nick turned to face her newest challenge.

Princess Alanna puttered with the tea for a moment, stirring cream and sugar into a cup and blowing gently on it to cool it. Then her golden eyes glanced up from under her long lashes, and she seemed to recall the newest subject for her torment. "Cabin boy, fetch me my book." The book lay a hand's breadth to the left of the princess's hand. Nick breathed deeply to hide the growl forming in her throat, and moved to answer the royal's demand. The menial task completed, Nick resumed her post at the door as the princess settled down to read. A half a candlemark later, the princess again seemed to recall that there was another being in the room. Now she looked at Nick contemptuously. "Don't you know it's improper to linger so in a lady's chamber? Be off with you! I shall call when I need you again." Nick bowed and turned to leave, immensely relieved to be doing so.

"Cabin boy?" called the princess. Nick resisted the organic urge to groan as she turned to face the now-hated voice.

"Yes, Your Highness?" she asked in a poor imitation of humility.

"You're bleeding," stated the princess matter-of-factly. And she pointed vaguely at Nick's bottom half. Nick looked down and nearly wept. She had known that her monthlies would be her undoing.

"Natalya? Mignonette? Fetch the cabin boy a clean set of trousers. It seems I have spilled my inkwell." And thus saying, she tossed the contents of the inkwell onto Nick's lap.

"Wha-what are y—?" spluttered Nick, but she was cut off by the princess.

"What are you hiding from? Or should I ask who? And what's your real name? Are you a pirate?"

"No! And why would I be hiding?"

"Well clearly a woman conceals herself as a man for one of two reasons; either she is hiding from a former life, or she likes to dress as a man. I gave you the benefit of the doubt and chose the former. Shall I reconsider?"

"No, but—"

"Well then what are you running from? A life of slavery? A cruel master? Or a forced marriage?"

"What's it to you?" asked Nick rather rudely.

"Well it's a distraction from this load of dung they call poetry, for one thing. Although it would be equally distracting were I to call the captain and that wonderfully handsome first mate in here to arrest you. Again, shall I reconsider? Either you entertain me voluntarily or involuntarily—I'll let you choose."

"How gracious Your Highness is."

"Sarcasm is unbecoming in a lady. Now, tell me your story."

Nick rolled her eyes. That little thing she liked to call privacy was one of her few treasured possessions. Now, in one day, it had been stolen from her twice. She had little else to protect, except her secret, which was beginning to crumble.

"I will tell you on one condition. You must promise on your honor as a princess that you will never tell a single soul my secret."

The hunger in her eyes outweighed the caution, and she swore.

------------

"I wish I were you," said the princess when the tale was over.

"Weren't you listening? Why would you ever want to be me?" Nick was incredulous.

"Because you can escape! You can bind your chest and put on a boy's old clothes and run away and never look back! You are already so far from the spaceport you could go the rest of your life without seeing it again. Meanwhile, my grandmother is shipping me off to be married, and I'll be my own kind of slave." Nick began to protest, but the princess cut her off. "I know I'll still have my crown, and I'll be Empress in my own right and he merely my consort, but I will be a slave to the throne. I will have no life of my own. I will pass laws, and direct wars, and make babies for the rest of my life. My grandmother had twenty-seven children. Did you know that? Not many do. Twelve died as children. Five more died in wars. Most of the rest killed each other off in their battles for the throne. My father was the oldest of the remaining, and thus the heir, but he is also too old to rule for much longer and my grandmother passed him over in favor of me. Lucky, aren't I? Hah! If only those poor bastards knew what they were wishing for when they schemed for the throne. Perhaps they'd have spent their resources more wisely and lived to a ripe old age. Everyone sees the power of the throne; none see the responsibility." And suddenly the princess seemed much older than her eighteen years. Nick felt a stab of pity, which startled her. She hadn't felt that for anyone in years, much less for a member of the nobility. She brushed it aside, but knew it would come back again to bother her. In the meantime, the maids had brought her fresh trousers, and she busied herself with changing behind an elaborate trifold in the corner of the room. Then she said a hasty goodbye, escaped from the room and dashed back to her own quarters to hide until the dinner bell rang. She was feeling very exposed after the day's revelations, and the sensation did not sit well with her.


	6. Chapter 5: WORKING TOGETHER

**A/N:** WHEW!! OMG it has been so long. I just wanted to thank EVERY SINGLE ONE of you that reviewed, and anyone who added me to any of their lists. It really is an incredible booster to read a review that is thoughtful and helpful. So many of you pointed out your favorite bits, and offered opinions of characters—such a help! I love to know what you are thinking, and how each character strikes you. I have finally learned how to respond to reviews, so I promise that every review will receive a response, and I cannot wait to hear from you guys!!

Ok now, buckle up and get ready, cuz this is a good one!

P.S. disclaimers suck. I own nothing you recognize from the movie. Blah blah blah.

**CHAPTER 5: WORKING TOGETHER**

Nick sat high in the riggings, staring out into the vastness that surrounded the ship. She had almost completed her week of servitude for the princess, and it troubled her that she had developed a strange attachment to the girl. They really weren't so different at their cores. The princess was spoiled, bossy, nosy, and manipulative to be sure, but she was many of those things because they gave her a sense of control in a life that was entirely out of her hands. Nick wouldn't miss the orders, or the questions, or even the princess's request that Nick visit as often as possible. Such a thing could have been viewed as favor, but to Nick it was merely another order.

What Nick would miss was the ease with which the princess had adopted her. Though the two were of nearly the same age, the princess had become like a bossy, demanding, and yet startlingly compassionate older sister. It was an odd relationship, like none that Nick had ever known, but the truth was that she had little to compare it to. _And most likely, neither does Her Highness._ They had grown slightly more at ease with each other than most would consider proper for a cross-dressing-cabin-boy-poseur and a crown princess. But the question of propriety had only fleetingly crossed Nick's mind, and she was fairly sure that it hadn't crossed the princess's mind at all. After all, the princess never allowed her ladies maids to leave them alone, but they sat in the adjoining sitting room while Nick and the Princess spoke in hushed voices. This met the standard for the princess's chaperones, and allowed her to have her own little secret.

But the punishment was nearly over, and Nick couldn't decide whether to be glad or upset. The princess had allowed her a haven where she could again be female, and had listened to and encouraged her, but she also offered advice that was not always welcome. Such as that Nick ought to reveal her gender and become one of the princess's ladies maids. Or that Nick should try to win Mr. Hawkins' friendship.

"He's really a nice man, once you let him be friendly. But I've seen you two. You always snap at him. You know, you're really not very kind," the princess had observed.

"I don't want to be kind. If I'm kind or friendly, I might let myself slip. I'll feel like I'm here and that I can be a girl. That would ruin everything. I have to keep him from getting suspicious," stated Nick.

"But you're probably making him more suspicious," she had rejoined, "because you don't act like any other cabin boy I've ever seen! All the others were scared boys either trying to prove themselves to the crew or trying to make their way through the Academy. But you're always challenging him and the captain, and with that havoc you made with the cook..." she shook her head. "You're constantly trying to keep him away. You act more like you've got something to hide because _you won't let him in._ A smart man like him, soon enough he's going to deduce that you're pushing him away so that he won't find it, whatever it is. Which will make him try harder to figure you out. But if you act normal, he'll just brush off any little things you may let slip. Trust me. I hid a lot from my father that way."

"Like what?"

Alanna's only response was a mysterious half-smile.

So Nick sat on her perch, looking over to the part of the deck where Jim was hovering in a longboat, conducting his monthly inspection of the ship's hull. In the boat with him he had a length of rope, knotted at intervals, and a fresh bucket of water with rags into the longboat. Nick felt something rise up and tug at her chest, and the click back into place. She had made a decision.

She scurried down from the rigging and dashed over to the longboat. "Can I help, Sir?" she asked softly.

Jim stared at her with wide eyes for a silent moment. For a portion of it, Nick thought the first mate was going to send her to the infirmary to have the ship's physician check her head. But he recovered quickly.

"Uh, sure. I mean, it's just more work, and I wouldn't want to add to your load. I mean, with the prin—"

"No, sir. It's really no trouble. Besides, it'll be done faster with two sets of hands, right?"

"Yeah. I guess so." And he seemed at a loss for anything more to say.

Nick slipped gently into the longboat, hoping against hope that the princess may actually have been right about something.

"Well, er...Nick. First," he checked the list he had laid on the bench seat, "we have to check the tail rudder that steers this old tub, and make sure there's nothing caught in it."

"Like what?" asked Nick distractedly. She was watching the practiced motions of Jim's hands as he untied to boat and separated the smaller craft from the huge ship. He never even looked down as he did so.

Well, like mantabirds, or Zapftwings for one, and the droppings for another. Or a small space rock. Or a meal they didn't want to finish. Or—"

"Are all of the possibilities gruesome? Because I don't really want to crawl up there and find a mangled corpse..." she trailed off. Jim looked up from the paperwork to see that the cabin boy was a bit... green around the gills. He barked a short laugh.

"You are such a girl!" This time the boy froze only momentarily at the lighthearted jab. Then he smiled and made a face at Jim.

"I am not, and I'll prove it." A smug expression settled on the boy's face.

Jim was slightly surprised, but more amused by the sudden display. More confidence than the bravado he had shown before. A niggling thought that Jim was barely aware of flitted through his brain. _What's he gonna do to prove it? And why is he so cocky about it?_

When they reached the stem of the ship, Jim pulled the longboat about so that they were no longer headed away from the ship, but following closely alongside. There were a few tense moments in which the skiff bobbed a bit too close to the thrusters in the slipstream of the larger boat, but Jim handled the tiny craft expertly.

As soon as the ropes were taut and the longboat secured, Jim turned to instruct Nick on proper boarding of the thin planks that served as the platform surrounding the rudder, but as soon as he had turned and made eye contact, the boy took a two-step start and leapt from the longboat, landing nimbly on the wooden platform.

Jim stared in undisguised awe. For one, the boy hadn't died. And two, the boy had even attempted the leap.

"What were you thinking? You could have died! What possessed you to try that?" he shouted to the cabin boy.

"I'm no girl. Would a girl have done that?" Jim looked sternly at him. "Sorry, sir, but I had to prove it to you. I won't try anything like that again, I promise." Nick turned away from the first mate, to smile smugly to herself. It may have been a bit much, but she was pretty sure the man would never call her a girl again. But she had a job to do here, and the adrenaline rush from the leap of faith hadn't slowed now that she had two feet planted again. She was hardly any steadier on the thin planks than she had been in the air. She made a quick cursory check for any obvious obstructions and came up empty. "Is there anything else I should look for, sir?"

"Check the mechanism. If it squeaks, then it's getting rusty." No squeak. "Good. Check the lines that run from it, and then you're done." When the lines had all been secured, Nick turned back to face the longboat. There was no way to get back onto it.

"Where's the rope?" she cried.

"I never had a chance to get it over, and I'm not gonna waste my time now!" Jim smirked. "You got over there on your own, now get back on your own."

"WHAT?!?" Nick began to breathe heavily. The idea of jumping toward the huge, looming space galleon hadn't been nearly as daunting as the prospect of jumping onto the tiny longboat. There was a lot less room for error. Nick realized now how dangerous the original jump had been; the return jump had even more chance of missing the longboat entirely.

Before she could lose her nerve, she set her jaw, took two steps back, and ran off the edge of the platform.

Jim's heart froze when the boy left the platform. He hadn't meant for him to really jump, just to scare him with the idea. He knew, somewhere in his head where the equations he had memorized had nothing to do with anything, that Nick wasn't going to make it. The entire thing, from the moment the thought registered in his head, took only a matter of seconds. As Nick plummeted the air, Jim dove forward, dropping to his knees and throwing his torso over the edge of the boat. The skiff rocked and tipped, almost dumping Jim out, but his years of solar surfing had instilled him with an innate sense of balance, and he adjusted his weight without thinking. Instead of dumping him, the boat rocked back upwards just as Jim snatched one of Nick's flailing hands—the momentum of the boat took care of most of the effort of hauling Nick aboard. He was tossed up over the side, and Jim was knocked backwards. The two of them landed sprawled in the bottom of the boat, Nick across Jim's chest. Instinct caused her to scramble up, but she was only able to prop herself up, hands splayed across his chest, before they made eye contact. His grey-blue gaze bored into her head, and the adrenaline drained from her body, nearly causing her to collapse. She weakly tumbled off of him, and lay panting for breath in the bottom of the boat.

Jim looked at him oddly. He was also panting for breath, but it seemed to be a bit more than it ought to have been. The sensation of that tiny body—for now he realized _exactly_ how small the cabin boy was—had struck him strangely hard. And hard really was the only word for it. He continued to stare at the cabin boy, who was now curled up slightly, and seemed near tears.

But he couldn't move toward comforting the boy. A small detached part of his brain laughed at him for continuing to use that word, despite the ever-growing doubt. For one thing he _didn't_ doubt was that he had felt something strange as the boy toppled onto him...

... as their bodies lay pressed together...

there had been certain anatomy present that belied the term 'boy'.

Finally, his brain seemed to absorb the idea, and he moved to awkwardly comfort the huddled mass of quivering nerves that lay curled at his feet. Soon after, they abandoned the idea of completing their task list in favor of recovery onboard.

When they came on deck they discovered that a small crowd had gathered at the stem to watch the unfolding action. All had seen Nick's daring leap, and assumed that the rope lines had fallen, or broken, and were impressed by the boy's nerve, and even more impressed by Jim's rescue. After fending off congratulations and reassurances, Jim half-dragged Nick back to the cabin they shared. He dumped the youth into the hammock, and sat himself back on his bed. Nick stared out the porthole for a few minutes, then looked over at Jim.

The moment was intense. Jim tried to hide in his eyes and face the fact that he knew the truth. He smiled reassuringly, and said, "You did good today, kid. You didn't need to jump, but you did. You almost died, though. Don't ever take a chance like that again." Nick nodded gently, and turned back toward the window. In a few short breaths, she was asleep. Jim lay back on his cot. He turned the revelation over and over again in his mind. He didn't doubt that Nick was a girl. But he also couldn't find it in himself to doubt that she had done as good a job as any other cabin boy he had ever seen, although she had a bit more sass to her. But she worked hard, and she was willing to risk her life to prove herself. He knew he'd have to keep himself in check around her now, to make sure he didn't embarrass either of them, or reveal his knowledge.


	7. Chapter 6: THE AFTERMATH

A/N: OMG this is the fastest I've cranked out a chappie since the prologue! AND it's the longest chapter yet! WOW! All the credit goes to my wonderfully industrious readers who oblige this poor inspiration-deprived author with shining reviews. I love all of you!

As a reward (I know, right? The carrot in front of the donkey. I am shameless.) the first THREE people who review will have tiny parts in the next chapter. I need some extras and instead of scraping the bottom of the barrel of creativity and actually making them up, I thought I would feature some of you wonderful folks! So I will email/PM the first three reviewers, and ask for some basic info for descriptive purposes, and then that will be that!

Love all of you, and this chappie is dedicated to MirieDearie, my lovely beta!

Oh, and I own nothing except for a cracked mug, which is currently empty of tea. Off to remedy this catastrophe! Toodles!

CHAPTER 6: THE AFTERMATH

Jim caught himself staring at the cabin boy, and not for the first time that day. He really didn't know what to make of the kid. He..._she _ was scrubbing the deck, on hands and knees, knuckles bleeding sluggishly. All at once Jim was torn in two. He recalled the boy—girl! She was a girl!—in the same position only a week or so before, and he recalled at that time feeling a sense of satisfaction that Nick was both obeying and doing a good job. Now he was flooded with images of the ladies he known at home, even the various maids and helpers his mother had hired over the years, who never had worked as hard, or as long, or without complaint as Nick had learned to do in the last week. Only his own mother had worked so industriously, and then only out of desperation to keep herself and her delinquent son fed. Jim could not reconcile the boy Nick and the girl Nick in his head. It was bothering him that he could no longer demand of the cabin _girl_ the same work he would have demanded of the cabin _boy_.

As he watched the girl work, he also recalled various conversations, crucial moments, and arguments that they had shared in the past weeks. Much of what had come to pass now made sense. Most especially Nick's warning about trusting women. She had been lying to him all along.

But , as Jim took stock of the events of the past day , he found that he would not have taken a different course. The girl was learning—to take orders, to hold her tongue, to interact with people above her on a friendly and respectful level. Jim knew these were things that could help her in the future, should she ever seek a position as a servant, or a ladies' maid...

A thought struck Jim as suddenly and forcefully as a bolt of lightning. The princess. It had been an unorthodox punishment; allowing the cabin boy to wait on the crown princess of the Empire. But Jim knew that taking orders from one as haughty and demanding as the princess was sure to grate on Nick. But he hadn't rebelled against the punishment. In fact, the princess had often required Nick's assistance more often during the day then she had ever called upon Jim. Did Her Highness know something that had taken Jim longer to figure out?

"Good day, Mister Hawkins," came a cool voice behind him. He spun, and quickly morphed the motion into a bow, causing the pink blob asleep in his pocket to emerge. Morph flew over to inspect the princess, who smiled amusedly as he became her in miniature, replicating every tiny detail right down to the flounces at her hem and the lacy pattern on the parasol that graced one shoulder. Jim never ceased to be amazed by Morph's exactitude in his little games. Then he flew off to distract the cabin boy.

"Good day, your Highness. What brings you out on the deck today? I was under the impression I would see very little of you, now that you have taken such a shine to my cabin boy." Jim knew it was forward of him, and that he oughtn't question the princess, but he couldn't believe the good fortune of her presence just as he put the pieces together.

"Yes, indeed, I have found him to be quite the satisfactory worker. He does everything I ask promptly and respectfully. Were he not a boy, I would think to hire him to replace Mignonette or Natalya!" There was a certain tone to her words, and a glint in her eye; and when Jim gave her a questioning glance, she nodded almost imperceptibly. It appeared that there were two persons on this ship who were aware of the cabin boy's deception.

Both turned to survey the crew on deck. There was not much activity, as it was the hottest part of the day and most of the crew was belowdecks. The few crewmen that were on deck were high in the rigging, or else moving empty crates and barrels to be unloaded at the next port. As they looked on, one squat alien brushed past the kneeling cabin boy, and then pretended to trip over his own tail, dumping a barrel half-full of kitchen waste on the clean deck. Nick looked up wrathfully, then flung herself at the crewman in an animalistic fury. So much for respect.

Jim hustled down the stairs and threw himself into the growing fray. He hauled Nick out by her shirt collar, and placed a firm hand on the other crewman's chest. Nick was practically dangling in his hold, and he was again surprised by her slight weight. But a last-ditch effort at escape—a desperate lunge toward her offender—reminded him of her hidden strength. When her attack failed, she fell back and wiped a bloody nose on her shirtsleeve.

"What's wrong with you?" he shouted at both of them. "Brawling in front of the Princess? What would the Captain say?"

"He'd say Krump was a lowlife stinking _worm_!" shouted Nick. "He dumped his _shit_ all over the deck! He—"

"The louse tripped me! He tried to take me foot—"

"SILENCE!" cried Jim. "The both of you! Nick, next time I suggest you keep your mouth clean around the Princess. Krump, I saw everything. You dumped the kitchen waste on the deck intentionally. The Princess saw it too—am I correct, Lady?" The princess nodded somberly. "As reward for your--shall I call it clumsiness?-- you will spend the night in the brig. I had thought my warnings against Mr. Hobb would be enough to discourage the fouling of our ship as a means of tormenting the cabin boy, but it's clear I was wrong. Again, I have a disobedient crew, and a mess on the deck. Mr. Slopes?" Jim called for the second mate, a slight, pasty-faced man who clearly suffered from a weak constitution. The little man darted forward. "Take Mister Krump down to the brig, and tend to his injuries." Krump had a split lip and a tiny cut above one of his four eyes that bled slightly, leaving a purple trail down his nose. Nick was certainly the worse off. "As for you," said Jim, turning to his feisty cabin boy, "You will clean this mess of the deck, and then you will tend to your own wounds."

As Nick attempted protest, Krump lost control of his temper. "Tha' guttersnipe has been nuffink but trouble, always breakin' stuff and makin' messes, and 'ere you've made a pet of 'im! Tha's no way to raise 'im up a man! Unless you likes li'l boys better?" he sneered. Jim's jaw tightened, and unfortunately, his grip on Nick's collar loosened. She flew at Krump's face, spitting and punching every inch she could reach. By the time the rest of the crew could drag her off, Krump's entire face had been scratched bloody, his nose was clearly broken, and there was a tooth (or two) lying on the wooden deck.

------------

Later that night, in their cabin, Jim scolded Nick for her rash action.

"You know you only confirmed their suspicions. You acted as though on my signal! It was too well timed. Plus, you attacked in defense of my 'honor'. You most likely did more damage than good." He said the last in a half-sigh, as though he was exhausted by the entire ordeal.

Nick was near tears. Her eye had swollen almost shut, her nose had continued to bleed onto the clean deck as she scrubbed it, leaving a bloody crust on her upper lip, and there was a rake across her cheek, opposite the black eye, from her opponent's nasty claws. Her shirt was torn across the shoulder, revealing a matching set of slashes, and her pants were ripped just below the hip—a testimony to the method employed to haul her off of Krump.

"I'm sorry. I just—I dunno. Lost it. I won't do it again." She swiped again at her nose, which was running blood again. Jim automatically handed over a handkerchief.

"No, you won't," agreed Jim. "But I'm curious. You're a good fighter. I remember you dodged Hobb without even trying. Why did you let Krump beat you to a pulp?"

Nick blushed. It was mostly invisible under the crusty blood, but Jim noticed anyhow. "Well, I didn't—I didn't really notice. I mean, I do now, and it hurts like a drunk danced a jig on my face." After a moment's thought, she added, "And ribs...and back," she winced. "But at the time, all that mattered was beating him. I prolly should'a stopped sooner. He got me but good." She groaned and flopped backwards into her hammock.

"Well, you gave as well as you got. But now the crew is going to be after you, for at least a few weeks. Then we hit port on Niamath, and they'll go ashore and get drunk and hire some floozies and when they come back they won't care much for what you've done. Keep your head down until then, and you should be fine."

"Thanks." She dropped her gaze and sniffled. Then a shudder followed, and Jim realized she was crying. Panic flooded him. He had absolutely no idea what to do. He would rather have been anywhere in the galaxy than right there, right then. So he turned and left the room. He walked a little ways down the corridor, and knocked on the door to the Princess's cabin. Natalya opened the door.

"Is the princess awake?" he asked quietly.

"I'm here," called the princess, swiftly dismissing Natalya and beckoning to Jim.

"No, thank you. I just need a small favor." He looked at her significantly. She rose and met him at the door. "It's Nick," he whispered fiercely, inadvertently revealing a little of his panic. "Sh--he's _crying_."

The princess laughed softly, and called to her maids that they were to tend to the cabin boy's wounds, as the ship's doctor had been called upon to tend to Mr. Krump. Jim was astonished by her swift lies.

"Do they know too?" he hissed.

"No, and they shan't unless it is necessary. I only hope that Nick isn't wounded too badly under her clothes. I would hate to have to explain to them to ignore the cuts and bruises, but they're not thick enough to ignore a lack of certain anatomy."

Jim blushed furiously; despite his determination to refuse to consider that aspect of Nick's secret, the princess's mention of Nick without clothes brought a startling new concern to the fore of his mind. What would happen if Nick were injured beyond her maid's talents? Or somewhere that the doctor would be forced to examine her without clothes on? Jim was startled by his determination to keep Nick's secret, and thus protect her. He would have thought that it would be her own concern to keep herself safe from such harm. But since her own safety clearly did not rank highly on her list of priorities, Jim had assumed the responsibility himself. He shook his head, putting the thoughts aside with the excuse of tiredness and stress.

"Should I get her?" he asked softly.

"Immediately. Is there still much blood?"

"Yes. Sh—He keeps wiping at the bloody nose, which starts it up again. And her eye is almost shut."

"Could you bring a bit of warm water from the kitchen? We may have to demand that she bathe. And stop blushing. You'll make everyone think you two really _are _secret lovers if every time someone mentions bathing or undressing you blush like a maiden."

"I can't _help_ it! I never had to discuss it before! At least not in regard to girls!"

"Nick is a woman now," pronounced the princess solemnly. After a moment's confusion, Jim drew a sharp breath in horrendous embarrassment and took off for the kitchen; the sound of Alanna's laughter echoing behind him.

------------

As Nick bathed behind the privacy of the screen, she heard the giggles of the maids on the other side of the room. Alanna had excused herself to the quartermaster's to fetch Nick some new clothes- her old ones had been torn to shreds. This gave the maids an opportunity to shove Nick into the tub, insisting that he be finished before the princess returned. She was already testing the limits of propriety by having the boy in her room. But none of the crew knew that Nick was a frequent visitor—only Jim and possibly the captain, so the rules were mostly just guidelines.

Nick rolled her eyes at the maids, who thought they were hiding their eyes from the body of a young boy, not the raggedly thin body of a young woman. With her good eye, Nick appraised herself as she soaked in the tub. She was still too skinny, but the consistent feeding aboard the ship had brought her back from the edge of starvation. Unfortunately, she was not in a position to appreciate what the sound food had done for her form. Had she been dressing as a girl, the appearance of curves at her hips and bust would have been cause for celebration. As her situation stood now, it was only dangerous. But she couldn't bring herself to stop eating so much, especially when the sensation of a full belly was so satisfying after her years of hunger. But after that close encounter with Jim, she had been fearful enough to start binding her figure. Jim had given no sign of having noticed anything, but Nick blushed at the memory. She had been pressed up against his chest, sprawled on top of him, and when he met her eyes a furious heat had flooded her. She refused to call it anything but embarrassment. After all, he had been forced to save her life when she recklessly attempted to prove her courage and almost got herself killed in the process.

Another appraising glance told her that there was little chance that her very minimal curves would be spotted, but she would feel safer with a baggy pair of pants and a length of bandage wound round her chest.

Just then the princess re-entered the room, and the ladies maids shouted at Nick to get out of the tub and get decent. Nick heard Alanna's peal of laughter as she tossed the clothes over the screen and then exited the room, taking her maids with her. Glad of the privacy, Nick toweled off, and grabbed at the bundle of clothes. A roll of bandage tumbled from the folds, and Nick said a silent prayer of thanks for her unlikely guardian.

When she was dressed, the maids and Alanna re-entered, and there was much chatter and clucking of tongues as they fussed over her bruised face and torso. With the excuse of wrapping her bruised ribs, Nick explained away the bandage around her torso as they peeled her new shirt from her. They daubed on various ointments and tinctures, most of which stung and smelled strongly. Only the one blotted onto her nose felt pleasant, and that because it eased the swelling that made breathing difficult. She swatted away the bandage that they tried to apply to her shoulder, and shrugged off their incessant questions. By the time the princess finally called them off, Nick was absolutely exhausted. She excused herself, bade them goodnight, and stumbled back into the cabin she shared with Jim. She collapsed in her hammock, hoping to sleep until daylight. Unfortunately, sleep proved elusive, and she lay there for nigh on an hour, holding a now-lukewarm poultice to her swollen eye. She heard Jim return to the room after his nightly conference with the captain. They sat for a while in companionable silence; Jim attempting to relax, and Nick staring at the ceiling through her good eye. Nick decided to take advantage of the quiet moment to ask a question that had been bothering her recently.

"What do you know of the princess's betrothed?"

Jim was startled by the question. He responded after a moment's thought, "His name is Alexandre Di Salvatore. He is a prince on a planet out by the Caeryn Abyss. It's a little one, but it's full of gold and other riches. A lot of people thought that the stories of Treasure Planet actually referred to Mayamin, his planet. They may be tiny, but they're really powerful. It's a good match for the Princess, and for the Empire. Why do you ask?"

"That's who we're headed to meet, isn't it? Just wondering what to expect. Do you know what he looks like?"

Jim raised an eyebrow in question. It was because Nick had revealed knowledge that Jim himself had had to scavenge for, and that no-one below the captain was to know. There was too much risk of the information leaking, and pirates attempting to intercept the mission. Nick blushed, thinking Jim was questioning her reasons for asking.. "I don't care, I just want to know for the princess's sake. She's been kind to me and I want to know if she's being forced to marry an ugly, old, potbellied scumrunner. She deserves better."

"Like you?" he teased, and Nick burst out laughing at the thought. Jim chuckled. "No, he's quite the opposite, actually. They say he's quite handsome, though I'd be no judge of that, contrary to the crew's apparent belief."

Nick looked away, slightly shamed by the gentle reference to the day's events. "I'm sorry I caused such trouble for you. I hope they don't make things bad for you,"

"I don't think it'll be anything I can't handle. Just promise me no more fight with the crew. I can't save your ass again." Nick nodded solemnly. Jim sighed. "If I didn't know any better, I'd ask you to start wooing one of the princess's ladies maids." Something in his tone gave her pause.

"If you didn't... _know better_?" she asked, voice a bit higher than it would have been had she given it a thought. "What does _that_ mean?"

"It means that I—I think you have your sights set on someone else. So the ladies' maids wouldn't catch your eye." Jim held his breath for her reaction.

Nick was slightly flustered. She knew Jim meant the princess, of course he meant the princess. He thought she was a boy, and that she would have been dazzled by the princess's beauty and favor. It was a perfectly sound conclusion.

But for just a moment, _just for the slightest instant_, she thought he'd meant himself. And she'd blushed, not realizing until that very second that she might have stopped hating him. And that the possibility existed that she might actually have liked and respected him. And beyond that...well she took the tiny little voice in her head that dared think beyond that and locked it up tight in a dark closet where it beat its tiny fists on the door and demanded to be heard. But she refused. So she rolled over and stared at the wall, wondering how she had ever managed to convince herself that this harebrained scheme had actually been a good idea. She lay awake for a little while, aching all over, and with a tight knot in her chest.

Jim also lay awake, wondering how to tell someone that you knew they were hiding something. Something really big, and possibly life-threatening. Especially when you knew that person would likely take off and never be seen again. And _especially_ when you were pretty sure that was the last thing you wanted to have happen.


	8. Chapter 7: FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE

**A/N:** Ok. I'm a horrible person. This is a ridiculously short chapter. It has taken me forever, and I refuse to drag it out any longer. I will give y'all this tidbit and hope it ties you over until I can manage to get the next chapter done. It will be basically the second half (read: the other four-fifths). So many apologies!!

**NOTE #2- PLEASE READ:** I will be changing my username!! Do not be alarmed!! I wanted to give you all warning so that you don't freak a little. From this point forward, my penname will be RomanyChic. Let me know if this causes any issues. (Though I doubt it will—we're all grownups here...)

And now, on with the show!

**CHAPTER 7: FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE**

Nick tallied on her fingers, mouthing slowly as she thought. _Crescentia, then Eriegel, Rayfien, Byramick, and Letourne so far, and next Niamath. After that, it's only Hazof, and Grevoc and then we meet the Myamin fleet at the Sun of Stars Nebula. We reach Niamath tonight... so we're only another month out!_

Nick sighed with relief. She had never looked forward to a stop in port quite so much as she was looking forward to Niamath. She leaned back against the cabinet and pretended that she had a few minutes to spare for a rest, instead of a mountain of dirty pots and pans awaiting her attention.

Then suddenly, a whistle blew on deck. She recognized the shrill sound—she had been chased down often enough for having missed it that Jim had spent a week refusing to use her name and only blowing the whistle to call for her. It was the call for the cabin to be on deck.

She jumped up and glanced at the cook, who waved her away, and raced up on deck. Jim stood there waiting for her, grinning widely beneath the brim of his three-cornered hat. He was dressed in his dark blue uniform, in anticipation of the docking later that night. "Well, at least you heard it this time."

"How could I not? There's a pack of dogs back on the spaceport that heard that one. Why'd you blow so loud?"

"I didn't know if you were belowdecks in the galley, or _way_ belowdecks, like in the brig. I never know if the next time I try to find you you'll be locked up for swearing at the captain."

She scowled at him. "Anyway, the captain sent me to get you, because you've got orders for our stay in Niamath."

Nick groaned. The last thing she needed to hear was that she'd be held back to keep watch on the ship again. "Now, don't give me that, you'll still be allowed aground," admonished Jim. "The difference is that you won't be allowed to wander on your own."

"What? I'm getting' a babysitter? No wa—"

"Wrong. And shut up and let me finish. You're the one babysitting."

Nick looked at him blankly. To her credit, her mouth did not hang open, but she looked on the verge of giving in to the temptation.

"You'll be escorting the Princess around the port. You'll be her security. The captain offered me to her, but she refused and asked for you. Although, why she asked for you, I have no idea. It's not like you're all that intimidating..."

Nick ignored the jab. She hardly heard it. She feared that the princess had something in mind. It was unusual for her to request Nick's company where others might be aware.

And Nick doubted that anything the princess had in mind could be as enjoyable for her as for her highness.

--

That night, long after the spaceport's artificial sun had 'set', and the lights had come on to illuminate the bustling port, the R.L.S. Galaxy finally came to rest at the dock. The gangplank came out, the captain gave the signal, and the crew dispersed into the wharf. Nick leaned against the rail on the deck, waiting with arms crossed and expression dark.

Jim emerged from the captain's planning room alone, but through the streaming light Nick spotted the princess, dressed in her traveling cloak. She scowled.

"What's the matter?" Jim asked, even though he sounded like he already knew. He came to lean against the railing next to her.

"It's not what you think," replied Nick, still glaring at the doorway. "It's not that I'll hate tailing her all week, or that I'll hate that I have to spend time doing all her silly, froofy, girly things. I'm sure I'll find a way around that deadly boring crap."

"You're right then. It's not what I thought. So what is it? I thought you two were getting along, at least as well as a cabin boy and a princess can be expected to."

"It's that she didn't ask. I know she doesn't have to—it's like you said, she's the princess and I'm the cabin boy. But I would have thought she would have asked. It would have been nice if she had. I thought she respected me enough to treat me a little better than her lapdogs."

"Maybe she was afraid you'd say no. She seems to have taken a liking to you..." here he nudged Nick's arm with his elbow. Nick refused to smile, though a blush crept across her cheeks. Jim sighed and folded his arms in an imitation of Nick. "At least you'll get to get off the boat this time."

Nick's eyebrows went up, and she stared at him. "Seriously? You think that's enough to cheer me up? You stink at this!" She laughed aloud, at the startled expression he wore, and then he smiled embarrassedly. He subconsciously edged away. Somehow she seemed much more feminine when she was in a good mood...

"Anyway, I'm sure the beds at the inn will be more comfortable than that stupid hammock. Although, I bet my hammock is more comfortable than your bunk!" She laughed again, and he was, for the first time in a very long time, struck dumb. He had thought to offer her his bunk, but then realized that's not what he would do had she actually been a boy. Then he thought to tell her to stop complaining, and realized he had hated sleeping in a hammock too. While his mind searched fruitlessly for an acceptable answer, Nick took his silence for sternness. "Sorry. I'll stop complaining. It's really not that bad. I'm just looking forward to a mattress. The one I had back home wasn't the softest, and the hammock just isn't the same," she paused for a moment. Again, Jim had no suitable response. He hadn't meant to seem scolding, but it had changed the subject—however slightly. "Although I bet I've built the mattress into a featherbed, and I'll be sadly disappointed all over again," she concluded ruefully.

Jim sighed heavily, and inwardly shook his head at himself. For all his studies and high marks, he had just failed, utterly and comprehensively, at the one thing even the privates at the Academy could handle with ease. He had never thought conversation with a girl could be so complicated. Although, he allowed that the conversation was slightly more difficult when the girl was incognito as a boy, and a slip by either one of them could prove deadly. But still.

The princess emerged then, trailing candlelight and ladies maids. "Shall we go, then? The two of you are done packing?" Nick stared openly at the princess. Jim and she had been packed for hours—they had merely thrown a few articles of clothing and a bar of soap in their knapsacks. The princess had taken hours to pack, and that was with the frenzied assistance of her maids.

"Yes, we're ready, and thank you for asking. I take it you're ready to go?" Her highness nodded, and Nick whooped and galloped down the gangplank. Jim's eyes widened and he couldn't help but chuckle. A sideways glance at the princess told him that she was similarly bemused. Her eyes darted around the port in the glow of the streetlamps, and she looked like she was expanding in the glow of the open, sprawling city... like there was new life to her. But then the subtle change faded away, and she glided serenely down the gangplank.


	9. Chapter 8: AT THE CROWN AND ANCHOR

A/N: YAY! CHAPTER 8!! And, it's 10 pages long. OMG HUGE. Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter 7, and please review this'un too! Also, there is an open Q&A after this chapter, and all questions will be responded to personally. Just in case there's anything I'm not clear about. 

**CHAPTER 8: AT THE CROWN AND ANCHOR**

Nick reached across the table for the last crust of bread left on the block. It had been a delicious meal—she had never been _served_ before, and she found it quite to her liking! The bread had been brought fresh from the oven and laid on a block of wood for the guests to cut for themselves. Then a thick soup consisting mostly of the local specialty—marine fare—had been brought, followed by the largest cut of space whale meat she had even seen in her life. It was smoky and tender and tasted so delicious that Nick had nearly wept with joy. She had stemmed her tears by shoving increasing quantities of meat into her mouth, however. Jim had ducked his head to hide his laughter as the princess (and her maids, from the table next to them) watched in horrified fascination. Nick was doing a wonderful job of imitating the eating habits of the local ruffians.

But now the princess had gone to meet with the innkeeper, and Jim, Natalya, and Mignonette were all dancing with the rest of the townsfolk. There was a lively group playing instruments Nick had never seen, and it was a song she had never heard, but the dance was one that she was familiar with. She was thankful for that at least. If one more new thing happened along for her to gawk at, her eyes would most likely pop out of her head. But despite the excitement of the new sights, smells and tastes, Nick was slightly irritated. She watched the crowd of dancers and wished to join them, but rejected the prospect of having to court a girl to dance. She would, at that moment, have given a lot of her worldly possessions to be dressed as a young woman, and to be able to dance with the young men of the town. She watched Jim, now dancing with Natalya, and saw him smile at her as they joined hands to begin the new pattern of steps. She saw his mouth move to make a comment, and the smile grew wider as she tossed her head back and laughed. Nick felt a sudden nauseating fury grow in the pit of her belly.

"Would ye like some more?" came a soft voice from behind. Soft, it may have been, but it carried well through the ruckus of the dancing, and Nick spun to face the speaker. A girl, holding a pitcher of ale in one hand and a fresh loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth in the other, stood almost immediately behind Nick. The first thing to be perceived was the long hair—a stab of jealousy and remorse flashed though Nick—it hung in a shining brown curtain to her waist. It was beautiful and perfectly straight, and well tended. The second thing to register was the annoyance.

"Look here, boy, d'ye want the bread or no? I can't be standin' here all day an' night waitin' for ye to make up yer mind."

"Y-yes," stammered Nick.

"Ale too?" asked the girl, leaning over the table.

"Sure," replied Nick.

The girl leaned over and filled the tankard. Then she came around the table and sat down opposite Nick, jug at her elbow and chin in her hand.

"Why aren't ye dancin'?"

"Don't wanna."

"Why not?"

". . ."

"Hmph. Jus' bein' polite. Ye don't have to get huffy." She sighed; then muttered under her breath, "_Boys._"

". . ."

"Well, if ye need anythin' later, the name's Mari." She rose and glided away, looking slightly miffed. Nick was in a similar temper, as Jim discovered when he returned to the table.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked, noting the sullen expression on her face.

"Nothing," she grunted.

"Something," he countered.

"No! It's nothing. Go have fun. I'm going to bed soon."

"Do you need me to show you which room is ours?"

"I think I can find it by myself,"

"Then I'll call the lady Samelia to show you to bed."

Nick glanced at him to see if he was serious. Not a hint of a smile touched his face. He really would call the feline woman away from her work to escort Nick to bed, knowing full well that it would put the tavern keeper into a temper, and irritate Nick to no end. She sighed and growled slightly. "Fine. If you can't even let me out of your sight for an hour..."

"It's not you I don't trust," he replied softly. Nick almost didn't hear him, and after a second's thought decided to pretend she hadn't.

They climbed the stairs and turned down the corridor, following the scant directions that Samelia, the innkeeper, had shouted over her shoulder as she shooed the princess into a private den.

"Turn to the left, up the half-flight, take the right hall and the eighth door down..." muttered Jim. The inn was built on a small base, and expanded upward and outward simultaneously. The effect was rather comical from the outside; the tavern on the ground floor took up the whole space, and the rest of the inn sat atop like a mushroom cap. The inside was less amusing—it was twisted and messily laid out. Nick supposed that the original design hadn't been intended for such expansion. Finally they reached the door to the second-best suite in the inn. Nick had a weird, tingly feeling as Jim reached for the doorknob to their room—_their _room. It felt a little shameful. Certainly it had been all right to share a room on the ship, they had been working, hadn't they? It was a job. The orders were to live with Jim until she learned not to run her mouth off.

But here... in an _inn_... it seemed wrong somehow. She had heard the stories in the taverns about the girls that stayed in rooms with men they weren't tied to. She had a pretty good vocabulary to describe them too, but she would never use it. But the words echoed in her head as she tried to reassure herself that in this situation she was boy, no one but Alanna knew she was a girl, and there was no need to kick up a fuss that might endanger her secret. Nick heard a few muttered curses from Jim and suppressed a giggle—the key the innkeeper had given them was not working in the lock. She reached over, plucked the key from his hand, shoved it in the lock, and twisted hard while simultaneously shoving her hip against the door. The door groaned open. She tossed the key to Jim and smiled cheekily. He looked a little more than a little surprised.

Nick entered the room first, pushing past Jim into the dimly lit room.

"Where's the lantern?" she called.

"Here," he replied, striking a match.

When the lantern was lit, he walked around the perimeter of the room, lighting the lamps that sat in fat sconces on the walls until the room was filled with flickering yellowish light. Nick glanced from the large windows with heavy crimson drapes to the small wardrobe that squatted in the corner, then to the small writing desk against the wall and to the large mirror that hung on the wall across from the bed...

...the large, singular, _**bed**_.

"Damn it," breathed Nick— in unintended unison with Jim's more inventive response.

--

"But can't we just drag in a cot?" cried Jim.

"What do you think this is? The bloody royal palace? We've two cots to our names, and both are in her highnesses rooms, complete with maids sleepin' in 'em. If you think that's more to your taste, then be my guest!" Samelia had been friendly and cooperative at first, despite the late hour, but as Jim's insistence dragged on she grew weary of his complaints. Now they stood in their respective corners of the kitchen, preparing to begin another round.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with sharin' a bed with the boy anyway? None of our customers have ever complained about that room before. The bed's good, and the sheets are clean. What's your problem?"

"He... he kicks in his sleep," replied Jim feebly. The 'boy' in question shot Jim an angry look. She didn't understand why he was kicking up such a fuss. He was drawing unnecessary attention to them, and was endangering her position more by the minute. She refused to ask the question that was racing around her head, that was causing her heart to pound and her chest to tighten—he couldn't know that she wasn't a boy. He just couldn't. She'd been so careful. She'd taken every precaution she could think of—there was simply _no way_ he could know.

So why was he kicking up such a fuss? She was a little shocked by the prospect of sharing his bed... she didn't want to do it any more than he seemed to... but she couldn't seem to fight it. If she argued alongside him, she would help him draw attention to her secret. But if she argued with him... she couldn't do that. It was too shameful. So she retreated into that role she had always despised: she sat silently on a stool in the corner while the man argued for her.

Nick stood and grabbed Jim's arm. She pulled, attempting to drag him bodily from the room. He stood his ground, and refused to be moved, to which she responded with a dark glare and a hissed, "I need to talk to you!" He moved then, dragging his feet and acting generally resentful. Nick was suddenly struck by the thought that this must have been how the teenaged Jim had behaved. He looked out from under a furrowed brow, refusing to make eye contact and constantly shuffling his feet. So Nick swallowed her angry tirade and chose to attempt to smooth things over a bit.

"Jim, what's the matter? I get that she didn't set up two beds, and I get that we're used to those arrangements. But I'm sure we can deal for one night, and we'll solve the problem tomorrow. There's nothing that can be done right now."

Jim let out a huff of breath, and turned away. He insisted to Samelia that the situation be resolved the next day, and then stomped up the stairs.

Samelia turned to the young cabin boy. "What's the matter with you, boy? You got bugs? You got something he don't want to catch?"

"Don't think so," Nick muttered.

"He afraid he can't bring his floozies back if you're in the bed too?"

"Don't say that," snapped Nick softly.

"Ha! Defensive little pup, ain'tcha?"

"No."

"And argumentative, eh? Well, don't mess with me right now. I'm dead tired and a bit, eh... bothered from arguin' with your mate there. Get on w'you, and get out of my way." She shuffled herself past Nick, who remained perched on her stool, defying the woman. She watched as the innkeeper bustled around the kitchen, finding a weird solace in studying her movements and appearance.

Suddenly the subject of Nick's appraisal spun around and snapped, "What the bloody hell are you on about? Get outta here! I got work t'be doing, and you're sittin' there watchin' me like I'm a damn street dancer! Out w'you!" and she proceeded to chase Nick from the room and to the base of the steps, where she watched to see that the boy went all the way upstairs.

"Boy's bloody touched in the head, I say," she muttered to herself as she returned to her work.

--

When Nick returned to the room, she stood in the doorway and stared at Jim, who sat at the writing desk. He stared back at her, neither one moving or speaking.

Jim was at odds with himself. He knew that if he conceded the bed to her, and slept on the floor, he would eventually have to confess that he knew her secret. And he knew her well enough by now to know that she would refuse to risk his office, his very life, with her secret; and that she would most likely flee. What she didn't know was that he was equally concerned with her well-being, and he refused to let her do any such thing. But as much as he could not tell her he knew, he couldn't just share a bed with her like that. It was improper. He was a gentleman... but here was his catch. There was no solution that could work. If he sent her next door to sleep with the princess, the rest of the world would see a cabin boy spending the night with a princess. Plus, she would think him crazy and refuse. If he slept with her—_in the same bed as her_, he corrected himself hastily— he would break every rule he had ever learned about being an officer. He would be defying every standard of behavior that came with his position.

He stared at her face, searching for some sign that she was enduring the same mental anguish that he was. It seemed she was a bit less than flustered. He sighed, and knew that he had to talk to her.

In reality, Nick was frozen in place with anxiety. Her heart pounded, and her breath was thin and tight in her chest. Her brain was clouding up and she was unable to even think through the logistics of the situation. She only knew the paralysis that rooted her feet in place, and that kept her hand fused to the doorknob. It was mere luck that her face betrayed none of this. Jim couldn't know that she was a girl. He couldn't. It was impossible. She repeated this to herself, a mantra to reassure that she hadn't lost everything she'd worked so hard for. _But then why is he fighting so hard for a separate bed? _asked that tiny voice she thought she'd locked away. _ If he thinks you're a boy, why is it such a big deal to him?_ Nick's mind raced frantically for an answer—for anything that could explain his insistence...

Suddenly Jim stood and broke the spell that froze Nick in place. She shut the door, and leaned back against it, trying to make her mind shut up. Nothing would happen, even if they shared the bed. As far as Jim knew, Nick was a boy, and he had made it clear to her that he did not follow that particular line of thinking.

"I'm going to sleep on the floor tonight," he announced.

Nick sagged with relief. They weren't in the clear yet, but this would be much better than the alternatives.

"Ha ha! That's 'cause you know I'd never give up a bed like that! Mmm! I'm so ready to _crash_!"

She helped Jim set up a bed, and arranged spare blankets from the wardrobe to make the drafty floor warmer and more comfortable. She sighed in relief as she crawled under the covers, but she was fooling herself. She knew there was more to this than Jim had let on. And deep inside, beyond anything she was consciously aware of, there was a sinking, anxious feeling. She didn't realize she knew it, but she knew her time was running out.

--

The night that followed was a difficult one for them both. Nick fell asleep immediately, but woke often, while Jim lay awake for hours before drifting into a sound sleep. Nick woke just as the dawn was tingeing the sky gray, and knew that she wasn't going to be able to sleep again. She pulled the covers up to her chin, and lay there for a while, thinking hard about the day ahead. She knew she was going to be dragged along by the princess. She knew that Jim would be here, working with the captain to restock the ship. She knew that she didn't relish the thought of an entire day with the princess, without even a break with Jim to lighten the mood. _But why does the break have to be with Jim? _asked that damned little voice. _Why couldn't it just be a break?_

"Because he makes me laugh," whispered Nick aloud. "Because I like being with him. Because he's my friend, and that's a nice thing to have." And with that she threw back the covers and crawled down to the foot of the bed. She flopped onto her stomach and looked over the edge of the comforter to where Jim lay sprawled on the floor. He was on his side, with one arm under the pillow and the other hand tucked under his cheek. Satisfied that he was sound asleep, hadn't heard her, and wasn't likely to wake for some time to come, she slipped off the bed and pulled on her boots. Having slept in her clothes, she was wrinkled and mussed, but securely disguised, so she headed down to weasel a bit of breakfast from the innkeeper.

--

The day was warm and pleasant, the sky light and cloudless and the air clear. It would have been a wonderful day, but for the packages and bags that Nick was carrying. Had she known that this was to be her role, she would have sent a mule in her place. It would serve the same purpose.

"Nick, dear, do you mind if we make one more stop before lunch? It's only right across the way from the tavern—"

"Nick, would you be a dear and hold my hat—"

"Nick, where did I leave my glove—"

"Here we are!" cried Natalya. "Madame Redingote's boutique!"

"Finally," sighed Alanna, "my feet are killing me."

Nick huffed and shifted the weight of the packages in her arms. Then she thought better of it, and dumped the whole lot onto the bench outside the picture window. Then she plopped down beside it and waved cheekily to the three ladies. "Have fun doing whatever it is you do in there. I'll be right here, waiting, in the sunlight, with the fresh air, while you do ...whatever it is."

The two maids gave matching little sounds of disapproval, while the princess smiled that half-smile that meant Nick was playing at the edges of her patience. She shooed the maids into the store.

"I don't know why you're being so difficult. All the footmen back home never complain about carrying my things for me. It's their job."

"I'm not your footman, Alanna! I'm sorry, but I just can't do all this work without a break every now and then. But go on ahead; I'll be right here when you get done," Nick replied.

Alanna spun and flounced into the boutique.

Nick slumped back against the bench, pushing Alanna out of her mind and concentrating on the lovely sensation of the warmth on her face. She sat for a while like that, letting the minutes stretch and slip into each other with that wonderful feeling of wasting time with no pressing responsibilities to make it uncomfortable. Suddenly, something zipped past her face. Her eyes flew open and she glimpsed a pink blur as it shot across her field of vision. She quickly threw out a hand, and the blob smacked into it, breaking into tiny pink pieces and then reforming into a single floating mass. It shook itself, as though trying to recover from the impact, and then seemed to recognize her, squealing and licking her cheek.

"Morph?" she asked. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you for days!" Morph gave a giggle-chirp and squeaked out several 'words' in his own language; the only one Nick thought she understood was 'silver'.

"What's silver, Morph?" she asked, wondering what he could possibly have been up to involving someone else's silver...

...then the pink blob quickly became a tiny Ursid with a large pot belly and two mechanical limbs. The miniature was wearing a three-cornered hat and the one arm ended in a sword, which it thrust into the air. Nick drew in a sharp breath. "Long John Silver?" she gasped.

Morph became himself again, and nodded happily, chattering and keening all the time. He was very pleased that she had caught on so quickly. "Silver!" he chirped affirmatively.

"Morph, where's Jim?" she asked urgently. The blob quickly formed into a sign, like the ones that hung above tavern doors. The tiny script read 'The Elephant and Castle'. Groaning, she levered herself off of the bench, flung open the door to the boutique to let Alanna and the maids know she was taking off, and then bolted down the road, their furious calls disappearing behind her.

--

Jim crept through the dark, smoky bar, feeling incredibly out of place and highly suspect. It was uncomfortable and nerve-wracking to be creeping around, hat drawn down to hide most of his face and sticking to the shadowy parts of the room. He pushed through the milling forms that filled the pub's limited bar space, and wound his way through the maze of tables and chairs and legs that took up the rest of the space. When he reached the back wall of the tavern, he rapped three times on a moldy-looking door, which swung inward to allow him access.

The room was lit by one window and a few lamps, the window being entirely insufficient to light the room because the designers had ignored a fatal flaw—it faced a brick wall. There was a round table in the middle with one leg broken off and replaced by a tower of chipped mugs, and a hulking form sitting in a chair beside. The chair groaned under the bulk of the occupant, who then rose to greet the newcomer.

A rumbling brogue erupted when the huge Ursid saw Jim in the doorway. "Ah Jimbo! How've ye been all t'ese years?" he called.

And in the same way he had said goodbye five years prior, Jim stumbled headlong into an awkward, but comforting bear hug.

--

Nick peered through the grimy front window of the pub. She was almost disinclined to believe Morph, except that there was no reason for the blob to have lied to her. There was no game here—he seemed as eager to find Jim and Silver as she was. But Nick was slightly less excited about the prospect of encountering them. This was merely a reconnaissance mission. She knew that Jim had an old friendship with the cyborg, but she also knew that the Ursid was a wanted criminal. It wasn't likely that Jim was involved in anything shady, but it didn't hurt to check up on the guy.

So she slunk into the bar, and eyed up the room's occupants. She had seen Jim enter the bar, but she had been further up the street, and it had taken her several minutes to creep up to the windows. It didn't appear that he was among the visible patrons, but there appeared to be several back doors. One led to the kitchen, and another to the back alley, as evidenced by the slumped drunk acting as a doorstop. But her tavern wench years had taught her well, and she spotted a third that was as grimy and moldy as the walls—creating a seamless disguise—and that the other patrons eyed warily. That had to be where Jim was meeting Silver.

Calling upon all of the skills she possessed, she snuck through the crowd cautiously and relatively invisibly. After what seemed like an endless sea of stumbling legs, windmilling arms, and sloshed ale, she reached the door. Nick dropped to one knee in front of it, and pressed her ear to the wood, feeling the grain imprint into her cheek.

--

"...when I graduated I was midshipman, but now I'm a lieutenant," he paused for a second, surprising himself with the proximity of the next rank. "And soon to be a captain, I guess."

"Ah, Jimbo! It puts me ol' 'eart to rest to know ya done so well fer yerself Didn't I tell ya ye had greatness in ya?" he paused, chuckling to himself. "Ya made me proud, lad. Yer a fine man now."

Jim flushed a bit pink and looked away, out the useless window. He pretended interest in the cracked brick and mortar wall, telling himself that he hadn't been bragging, that he hadn't come seeking approval...

...but the pride on Silver's face made every single drop of sweat worth it. He knew his mother and Amelia and Delbert were proud of him. But there was that gap—that feeling that there was someone else who deserved the satisfaction of knowing that they'd had a hand in shaping you, and that you were proud of yourself and grateful to them. He had wondered often if it had been for his father, another gaping hole left by the man he hadn't seen in nearly ten years. He was relieved to know that that place had been reserved for Silver.

"So, what have you been up to?" he inquired. "And only tell me the legal parts. I don't want to hear the other stuff."

"In tha' case no' much, Jimbo. What canna say? Ol' habits, ye know."

Jim shook his head. The old scalawag hadn't changed much in the past five years. He looked a bit older, a bit gruffer, and definitely more tired than he had aboard the Legacy. But that was to be expected of five years on the run from the law, plus the umpteen years before Jim had even known him.

They passed a bit more time in idle chat, reliving the good times en route to Treasure Planet, and they observed a moment of silence in memory of Mr. Arrow, the first officer lost to the Black Hole of Pellucid.

Suddenly, there was a harsh knock on the door. The innkeeper barged in, dragging a flailing bundle of limbs.

"Does'iss belong to one of yous? I caught 'im wif 'is ear to da door, and I was finkin' he din't belong dere. Does you know 'im?" At this he hauled the miscreant up by the collar, and Nick looked shamefacedly up at the two she had been eavesdropping on.

"Yes," said Jim angrily. "I know him. You can leave him here." The innkeeper looked only too happy to comply, dropping Nick in a heap on the floor.

"What are you doing here?" he shouted, grabbing her upper arms and hauling her to her feet. "I can't believe you followed me! What's the matter with you? And where's the—where's Alanna?" Jim loomed over Nick, forgetting the small issue of personal space in his fury.

"At the dress shop," Nick mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes. He was too close— her heart was racing with the adrenaline of the pursuit, and the fear of what she had discovered, and then getting caught...not to mention the fact that Jim was mere inches from her, holding her

"Stand back, lad," commanded Silver. Jim released her as though she had burned him, and took a few steps back. Silver's cyborg eye shot out a laser, which scanned Nick's form from head to toe in a wide beam. Jim froze, recalling that laser from their first introduction aboard the Legacy. But Nick stood her ground with her chin high and her eyes fixed on Silver—and only the faintest blush crept into her cheeks. She handled it better than the doctor had, Jim had to admit.

"I've been wondering," said Jim, "you scanned Doctor Doppler with that way back on the Legacy," he paused and swallowed, fearing the answer, "what does it do?"

"It helps me be sure t'ere ain't no tricks. Sometimes a body'll look righ' friendly, but t'ey're really an android or a metamorph," came the reply. "It told me yer Doc was a Canid, and yer lad here's really human. Which I didn't doubt, but jus' t' be safe." A thundering chuckle erupted. Jim looked absurdly relieved, and Nick looked as though she wanted to be mad, but was too tired. "T'at boy looks plum worn out! What'd ye do t' the lad, Jimbo? Wear 'im t' the bone?"

Jim looked at Nick, who blinked in surprise, and then to Silver. "He's fine. What're you talking about?"

Silver reached into a pocket and flipped Jim a copper coin. "Take 'is and buy a round of drinks fer t' three of us. T' steady t' lad, and fer us t' celebrate!"

Jim grumbled half-heartedly about crazy cyborgs and headed off to the bar, closing the door tightly behind him. Nick stared at the closed door, wishing fr anyone, anything to come in and rescue her.

"T' funny t'ing about cyborg parts," said Silver gently, "is t'at t'ey give ye a bit extra... _leverage_, if ye catch me drift. I don' have two good eyes, but I got one good 'un and a better'n good 'un. And it comes in mighty handy from time to time. I hasn't needed me spyglass since I got me new eye, and I'm a dead straight shot wi' a pistol now."

He leaned back in his chair, looking at Nick the way a hunter eyes his prey. "O' course, t'is is a diffr'nt eye t'an t' one I 'ad when Jimbo an' I were on t' Legacy. T'is one's better. It told me you were human all righ'—and a bit more besides. But I don't want to worry Jimbo wi' none o' tha'. 'E's worked hard to stay on the straight an' narrow, despite my influence," he chuckled softly. "I don' want 'im strayin' int' t'ings he shouldn't. And if you're breakin' t' law, you're somethin' 'e needs t' steer clear of."

"It's not like that—"

"I don' much care what its like," he broke in. "'Tis all about what is looks like. And it looks t' me like yer lyin' t' me lad. Tha' boy's 'ad enough trouble wi'ou' ye stirrin' more up fer 'im. I'm gonna be keepin' an eye on yeh, believe you me."

Nick's rational side lost the battle for control of her tongue. "And how d'ye propose t' do tha'," she asked, mocking his brogue, "when ye'll be ashore here and we'll be out yonder?"

"I've got me ways, yeh cheeky pup. Don' yeh doubt tha' I'll be along."

For some reason, Nick believed him more than she had ever believed anything in her life. "Aye, I believe you. But why? There's nothing I've done to cause you harm, I've not endangered Jim, and I'm the only one to blame for what I've done...what reason could you have for revealing me?"

"Like it or no, yeh are a threat to Jimbo. Yeh work unner 'im? So if anyone finds ye out, he'll be arrested fer concealin' it."

"So telling on me makes no sense! You'd be the one getting Jim in trouble! So why should I listen to you?!"

"Belay that!" Silver rose hastily, knocking his chair backwards in the process. He stayed on his side of the room, but his anger and the strength that anger lent him paralyzed Nick as neatly as if he had pinned her to the wall. "I'll tell yeh now tha' a few days is plenny enough t' make yer life harder'n ye ever though possible. I know what yeh are, an' I know yeh're a danger t' Jimbo. Yeh don' t'ink I know that me tellin' th' truth'd get Jimbo caught? I'll tell Jim, then! He'd be safe if he's t' one tha' tells!"

Nick was scared. Her heart pounded in her ribcage, and adrenaline poured through her veins. Without a moment's thought, she turned and strode from the room, keeping her pace until she reached the street. She didn't see Jim watch her, perplexed, and she didn't hear his questions to Silver. When she reached the street corner she broke into a run, flying as though the devil were on her heels, and feeling as though her own doom followed closely behind him.

--

Silver sighed. He hadn't meant to threaten her—his temper had gotten the best of him again. When she'd cracked back at him with his own accent, he'd been reminded of Jim on Treasure Planet, and the old pain had flooded him. In the years since then, he'd tolerated no doubt from his crews; he'd worked every job he could get his hands on and had done them all well. He'd built himself back up, and he was now nearly as stable financially as he'd been before the Legacy. In his own mind he was a pirate, but asked directly he'd have to admit honestly that he was now something more like a former pirate who was avoiding going straight. He was walking the line, somewhere between his old self and a new one. He'd worked less-than-legal jobs since the loss of Flint's trove, but steered clear of actually committing straight-out robbery—something he'd never flinched at before.

Had he sat down and really thought about it, he would have had to admit that he'd done it for Jim, to make Jim proud of him. He didn't like the idea of being a shadow in Jim's past, or a skeleton in his closet. He didn't want Jim to be ashamed of him. He liked the lad, respected him, and perhaps loved him, if love could really be applied to such a relationship. He was Jim's friend, but more like a father, and yet nothing like a father. It meant the universe to him—Jim meant the universe to him—but he could never really love him. His heart was too hard from so many years and so many deaths, and he was too set in his ways to learn how. But as much as a pirate could love, as much as a heart like his could feel it, he loved Jim like a son.

But now there was a threat to the boy. That was unacceptable. He knew that this lass was dangerous to Jim—she could get him tossed in jail if he was linked to her scheme. There wasn't a chance in the Etherium that he was going to stand for that, or else his name wasn't Long John Silver.

"Where'd he go in such a hurry?" Jim broke into Silver's thoughts.

"Can't say as I know, Jimbo," he answered heartily. "But I'm sure the lad's fine. Now, why don't yeh tell me abou' this job yer on now, eh? Yer so fired up, I'm thinkin' o' hirin' on meself!" he chuckled.


	10. Chapter 9: MAKING A MESS

**CHAPTER 9: MAKING A MESS**

Night had fallen by the time Nick returned to the Crown and Anchor. She had walked the docks for hours, mulling over this new and unpleasant dilemma. When Alanna had discovered her secret, there had been no threats, no danger of her revealing it to anyone. In fact, Alanna had worked hard to keep the secret from everyone. Now there was another person who knew, and he intended to make her miserable.

At one point she sank down onto the pier, dangled one leg over the edge, and cried herself out. She was frustrated, angry, sad and lonely. She had never felt as at risk as she did then, with the threat of being revealed hanging over her head. She didn't even want to go back to the inn, because she was sure Jim would be standing at the door with her knapsack and a disappointed expression. In the end she wandered back, if only because she had none of her belongings. At least if Jim chucked her out he would let her get her stuff.

As she walked back, a sick nausea settled into her stomach. She felt weak and shaky, and her nerves jangled with the tension of the upcoming confrontation. Nick had no idea what had become of the princess after she had run, but she knew she'd be in trouble for abandoning her post even if the girl had made it back fine on her own. In fact, Nick didn't doubt for a second that Alanna, Natalya and Mignonette had made their way back to the inn without any trouble. But that didn't change the fact that she had been responsible for guarding the princess, and had failed. No matter how absurd her orders were, she still had to complete them.

She wandered through the dining room, up the winding stairs, and to the door of their room, pausing outside for a moment. The door was ajar, and she heard voices inside.

"Jim, I'm sure she's fine. She got scared, and so she ran off. It's classic. There's nothing to be concerned about."

"I just can't believe she did that. Now I have to explain it to the captain, and I have to track her down too, and it's just more trouble! If she doesn't get killed for this, it'll be a miracle..."

The voices trailed off into a tense silence. Nick heard Jim's boots pacing the floor, and there was a gentle creak of old wood—she guessed Alanna had taken the chair at the desk.

They had said 'she'. Again and again. In reference to someone getting scared and running off. Her stomach dropped through the floor. Her pulse echoed in her ears. She'd been found out. She didn't think the princess would have told Jim, but she had certainly confirmed it. Nick pushed into the room.

"What's going on?" she asked softly.

Jim stared at her, frozen in place. Alanna looked at her, surprised. "Natalya ran off," she replied quickly. "She got scared when you didn't come back for us, and tried to find a constable. Now she's missing," there was a subtle hint of accusation in her tone, but it wasn't enough to convince Nick.

"Are you sure? I thought I saw her next door..." and she backed up to leave the room and check the princess's room.

"Nick," came Jim's voice, soft but commanding.

Exasperation struck. "What?!" she snapped back.



"The captain wants to see you. He told me to bring you as soon as you showed up. He was here three hours ago, to invite the princess for dinner. An hour later, the princess wanders in unescorted. He's not stupid, you know."

"But what about Natal—"

Jim pushed past her to leave the room. She shot the princess a surreptitious glance, and then decided it would be in her best interest to drop the matter of Natalya. He wasn't precisely _angry_—in fact he was quite calm and his voice was controlled. Too controlled. He was quietly unfriendly, and that was worse as far as Nick was concerned, because at least if he'd yelled she could have yelled back. But this... frustration and disappointment were the two responses that she had no argument against. She felt her stomach flip a little with trepidation.

They processed down the hall in exquisitely maintained silence. Nick's heart began to thunder a little, and she was suddenly quite fearful. Somehow this silence was more terrifying than the thousands of screamed scoldings she'd gotten back at the tavern...

They reached the main dining room and wove through the crowd to the little office in the corner, where the princess had met with the innkeeper their first night in port.

The captain sat behind a large, plain wooden desk that was strewn with paperwork and empty plates and tankards. He gave her an appraising stare and then shuffled a little, leaning back in the chair.

"You disappeared this afternoon without leave, is that correct?" he asked gravely.

"Yes, sir," she mumbled.

"Thereby disobeying a direct order, correct?"

"Yes, sir,"

"You stranded the Crown Duchess of the Empire at a dress shop a quarter league from the inn, with no way to get back and no method to communicate with us or you in case of trouble or emergency."

Nick swallowed hard and nodded silently.

"If it were up to me, you'd probably be facing the whipping post. Ten lashes would remind you not to pull that kind of stunt again." Jim saw the color drain from Nick's face. "But luckily for you, the princess has asked that I spare you corporal punishment. She says that she needs you in proper working order for the chores that she needs done. So instead you are confined to your room. You are not to leave the room assigned to you from dawn tomorrow until dawn two days hence. It would be too much trouble to haul you back to the ship and set a watch for you, so think of it as a landlubber's brig," he said curtly, then returned his attention to the papers in front of him. "Dismissed," he added as an afterthought. Jim saluted the captain and the two of them walked in painful silence back up to their room.

As they passed the Princess's room, Nick considered knocking and asking for Natalya. But she was already in deep trouble with the captain and Jim, and her highness didn't seem too pleased either. Plus, she had saved Nick from a beating... it wouldn't do to cause trouble again. She'd corner Natalya later and ask.



She followed him into their room, where he began to prepare for sleep. He stripped out of his uniform jacket and tossed it over the wooden chair. He fussed for a few moments at the wardrobe, allowing the silent tension to build; then he slammed the drawer shut. Nick was getting frustrated, and decided to head him off before he fumed too long.

"I know you're mad at me," she announced.

"Really?" he replied neutrally, "What gave you that idea?"

"Hmm... maybe it was the silence. Or maybe the dark glare. I dunno, it might have been the slammed drawer..."

"Are you going to argue that I shouldn't be mad? Cause I swear I'll—"

"No, you should be mad. That's fine. I'd be mad too. I'd just rather you yell at me now. If you keep it in much longer it'll be worse for both of us when you finally explode."

"So, what... you _want_ me to yell at you?!"

"Yes! If it'll get this whole thing over with then yes! Yell, scream, throw some things! Do _something_ other than sit there silently!"

"Forget it! I'm not gonna yell at you just cause you want me to!".

"So you're only _not _yelling because I _told_ you to yell?! And nice job with the 'not yelling'! I'm totally convinced you're not yelling at me!"

"What were you thinking? You took off in the middle of the day, disappeared for hours without telling anyone where you were going, and then randomly waltz back in here thinking it's not gonna be an issue? News flash—it's a major issue!"

"That's not what I thought at all! I knew it would be a problem, and I'm sorry I caused so much trouble, but I _had_ to go!"

"And what exactly did you _have_ to do so suddenly?"

"I- I had to... think," she finished lamely.

"You had to think," he repeated.

"Yes! I went down to the docks, I sat there for a few hours, and I thought. I don't care if you don't believe me. I'm sorry it caused so much trouble, I'm sorry if you got yelled at, but I had to do it. I needed the time to think."

"And what exactly required such urgent thought?"

She stared at him for a moment. She opened her mouth to speak, paused again, and then closed it. "I... he..." she sighed. "Well, it's complicated."

Jim raised an eyebrow at her. "Try to explain it to me."

"He scared me!" she blurted.



Jim blanched. He hadn't expected that.

Nick scrabbled for a recovery. "He... he's... well honestly, do you think I don't have any clue who that was I met today?" she asked, jerking her thumb at the door. "I lived on the spaceport, Jim. Wanted posters everywhere! That man has a list of charges longer than my arm! I had to think about my loyalties for one—I just found out that my superior officer is old pals with a wanted murderer!"

"He's not as bad as all that. Those murders are all older than you think," he replied, aware of how foolish it sounded. "And that's a dumb reason to abandon your duties."

"Well I'm sorry you think so. I'm sorry I did it but I can't change it now. I'm not sure I would if I could but I'm certainly sorry. You're making me sorrier by the minute," she slapped a hand on the night table. "Is there somewhere I can wash up?"

He pointed behind her. There was a door adjacent to the door into the hall, which was effectively hidden as soon as the hall-door was opened. She blushed a little, embarrassed for not having noticed it in the day-and-a-half they had been staying there. She had washed up in the kitchen that morning.

"And if you knew he was a murderer, why'd you track him down after Morph ratted me out?" The pink blob made an apologetic sound from Jim's pants pocket.

Nick blushed even more, but shrugged. "I knew he was a murderer."

An awkward moment of silence passed. Nick turned and walked into the tiny bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

"Are you saying you knew he was a killer, and you came to my rescue?" Jim smiled a little.

"Well when you put it like that it sounds all dumb," she called through the door.

"How would you like me to put it?"

"I dunno... it was a recon mission. To find out what you were up to."

"So you were eavesdropping on us to keep me from getting killed? And here I thought you hated me..."

"I don't hate you!" she emerged from the bathroom, face clean. She began to gather clean clothes for sleeping—her day clothes were muddied from the knees down, and the shirt was streaked with dirt. "Look, I know we fight like, all the time—and most of them are my fault—but that doesn't mean I like fighting with you. I don't. I mean, I don't hate you, and I don't like fighting with you."

"So... if you don't hate me..."

"Don't make it what it's not. It's not like I want to pick out curtains or anything. You're not all that bad when you're not thinking up a thousand and one heinous chores for me to do by dinnertime." She disappeared back into the bathroom to change her clothes. Jim laughed and turned back to the wardrobe, peeling his shirt off and keeping one eye on the bathroom door by way of the mirror.

"And you're only a pain in my butt about half the time now... does that mean we're friends?" he asked with a touch of mock reluctance in his voice. He heard her laugh on the other side of the door.



"I wouldn't know," she replied. She opened the door and leaned against the frame. "I don't have friends. Can we still fight?"

He paused, the clean shirt halfway over his head. "What do you mean you don't have friends?" he asked, the question muffled by his shirt.

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. "I mean I don't have friends. I have people I work with, people I live with, people I hate, people who hate me," she ticked them off on her fingers, "but not a one of them would give a damn if I died tomorrow, except as a loss of income or as one less mouth to feed."

Jim was a little startled. "Geez... yeah, I guess friends can still fight. You mean you really don't have anyone... back home?"

"Nope. It's not like it matters." Jim searched her expression. She wasn't just being tough. There were no little shuffles or shifting eyes... she met his gaze evenly. It really didn't matter.

"You're weird." That was all he could manage. She sniggered and walked over to the bed, climbing up and sitting cross-legged on top of the covers.

"So what now? Don't we do some weird ritual thing? Spit in our hands and shake, or become blood brothers or something? I've heard the stories..."she smiled, mocking her own lack of experience.

"No," he answered quickly. "None of that. You go right on making life difficult and getting into whatever kind of trouble you can get your hands on, and I go on pretending I can control you and cleaning up the mess." She laughed.

"I can handle that." But then she made a face. "But not for the next two days. I get to stare at these four walls for the next forty-eight hours."

"Technically it's somewhere closer to fifty-three. But who's counting?" She stuck her tongue out at him. He brushed his hand against his pocket to wake Morph, who flew out and yawned. Then he nuzzled Jim's face. "Oh no you don't," Jim said quietly. "You're not getting away with that so easily. He made a mock-angry face at Morph, who blew a raspberry at him and laughed.

"Aw, Jim. It's not his fault. He was just trying to help."

"Help what? He knew everything was fine. Why'd you go get Nick, huh?"

Morph chirped happily and flew over to nuzzle Nick. Jim had an idea that Morph wanted Nick to meet Silver just so he wouldn't have to fly around to see all his favorite people. _Silly little blob caused a whole lot of trouble... and so did the silly little cabin girl._

Jim walked over to turn down the lamp on the night table. As he stood beside the bed, he noticed a faint scent in the air. "What is that?"

"What is what?" asked Nick, looking up from tickling Morph.

"That smell... what's that smell?"

Jim would have given a whole lot of money for a picture of Nick's face right then. She paled, then blushed, an expression of horror, embarrassment and fear on her features. "I... I had to use the-the soap in the 

bathroom. I don't have any more of mine," she choked. "It smells like... girly stuff. Sorry. It'll be gone by morning. I know it's weird..."

Jim smiled a little half smile. She smelled good. But that was bad—she smelled like a girl. She smelled faintly of flowers and clean linens and... something unidentifiable but distinctly feminine. It was odd how his sense of smell tied so strongly into his perception. She sat there cross-legged on the bed, suddenly so clearly a girl that he couldn't believe he had ever thought otherwise. She was **certainly** not a boy. Her hands and feet were too small, her body the wrong proportions... not to mention that her cheeks remained smooth despite an obvious lack of razor. When he had thought her a boy she appeared scrawny but strong despite her size. Now she was just a source of confusion to him—surprisingly tough and strong, while appearing even smaller, though he would never, ever call her delicate.

He shook his head. "It's fine. Just make sure it's gone by morning." Jim turned abruptly and laid down on the floor, the lamp forgotten. Her head appeared over the end of the bed, looking down at him. The scent followed and he inhaled gently. She smelled _really_ good...

"You can have the bed tonight, if you want. We can take turns. I don't want to be a pig."

He half-smiled again. "No, I'm fine. Maybe tomorrow. Go to sleep before I get mad again."

She nodded seriously. "Okay."

The lamp went out and he heard her climb under the covers. Morph made a little good-night noise, and then came and snuggled up on Jim's pillow.


	11. Chapter 10: SOLITUDE

NOTES: The character of Samelia has been officially renamed Ruus. You may have noticed the reference and wondered what the crap I was talking about. Now you know. ;)

The song performed in the tavern by Nick and unidentified character is called _The Voice_ and as far as I know is (c.) Chloe Agnew. She performs it with Celtic Woman (she is a soprano, so if you were to look it up you can get an idea of what I meant with Nick's changing the octave a bit) and I'm not quite sure who wrote it.

The proverb "All secrets are deep. All secrets become dark. Such is the nature of secrets." is (c.) Corey Doctorow from Someone Comes to Town, Someone Leaves Town.

Everything else that you recognize is (c.) Disney. Unfortunately I have made zero money from anything that is (c) me, but Nick and the other new characters are still mine. It's the thought that counts, no?

**CHAPTER 10: SOLITUDE**

As was her usual, Nick woke before the dawn. She stretched languidly and yawned, running a hand through her hair. It needed to be trimmed again. She hated the thought of cutting it _again_—it was so hard to do the first time. But it was necessary, even more so now than it had been before. And she needed a bath too. Washing her face and hands in the washbasin was not going to cut it for much longer.

But beyond bathing and trimming her hair, she had no idea how she was going to while away two whole days of confinement. There was only so much time that could be consumed with trifles like sleeping and eating. She was accustomed to spending her days engaged in physical labor—there was no way that reading a newspaper and napping was going to keep her from going stir-crazy. She remained in the bed for a short while, relaxing and enjoying the silence.

Then Morph woke, flew up to check on her, and decided that since she was already up, there was no cause to stay quiet. His shrill chirps and trilling noises were absurdly loud, especially in the dark silence of the still-sleeping world. She struck out to snatch him up in her hands and missed. Several times. Morph darted around the room, easily evading her in the darkness. In the excitement of the chase he forgot to be quite so loud, so Nick tried to keep him occupied as well as get her hands on him. She climbed out of the bed, her hands out in front of her, quickly realizing the truth of the adage "It's always darkest before the dawn." No matter how she squinted in the pitch blackness, she could barely make out the blur of motion that was Morph. She certainly couldn't see much of what was in front of her, and relied heavily on her memorization of the room's layout...

...which was clearly lacking. She tripped over the wooden chair at the desk and crashed to the ground. Directly beside Jim's makeshift bed. The room's other occupant sat up abruptly and thrust out a hand in the darkness to both steady and defend himself, nearly taking Nick's head off in the process.

"What. Happened?" he growled.

"I fell."

He was silent for a moment, and in her mind's eye Nick could just see him blinking and trying to process her simplistic response. "What the hell could you be doing at," he glanced at the pocket watch glowing on the floor beside him, "5:30 in the morning that would cause you to dive-bomb—I mean 'fall on'—me?"

"Trying to keep Morph from waking you up," was the sullen retort.



"Well congratulations. _He_ didn't wake me. Now go back to bed." Jim rolled onto his side and pulled the blanket up. Nick pushed herself up and sat back on her heels, sucking on the palm of her hand.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," she muttered angrily. "It's not like I have a shard of death lodged in my hand..." she crawled up into the bed, nursing the splinter that stuck out from the soft part of her palm, just below her thumb.

"You're fine," came the toneless voice from the floor. "Shut up and go back to sleep."

"And what if I can't?" she challenged.

"Well, then apparently the plan is to keep me awake as well! Go. To. SLEEP!"

Nick made a face in his general direction, and continued to fuss over the wound in her palm. A mug on her night table (which she knew she hadn't put there) shivered and became a pink blob. He cooed apologetically, inspecting her palm in the blackness, and became a pair of tweezers, which she waved away. "It'll be fine till morning, thanks. Now go back to sleep, sillyhead."

Morph nuzzled the uninjured part of her palm, and chirruped again. "I'm fine, Morph, really. It'll keep till there's enough light out. I'm not gonna die of it." He made a sad sighing noise and reluctantly shimmied down her arm to puddle on her lap. She petted his head with a fingertip and lay down to try to sleep a little more.

--

When Nick woke again, the sun was high and the room was empty. There was a patient, steady knocking at the door, and she debated ignoring it in favor of more sleep. When it insisted, she tossed back the blankets and staggered across the floor, rumpled and bedraggled and with eyes still heavy with sleep. She heaved the door open and found herself facing Mari, the serving girl.

"Message for you. A big ol' beast of a man left it at the bar for you, said to give it to the cabin boy. So I did, even though there weren't no tip for me. Thought you ought to know," and she thrust out a hand with a folded scrap of paper in it.

"Thanks," croaked Nick, taking the message. "I'll find something for you later."

Mari's face brightened. "Thank ye, sir!" She dipped a perfunctory curtsey and flounced away.

Nick scrubbed a hand over her face and yawned broadly as she shut the door. The tattered note went on the night table, and Nick sat on the edge of the bed. Some stretches, some more yawns, and a few minutes later, it occurred to Nick that perhaps the note ought to be read, considering that the message might be relevant... or even urgent...

She unfolded it cautiously and slowly read through the first lines:

_Cabin Boy-_

_Meet me in the elephant & castle pub today at noon. I have a favor to ask of you._

_Long John Silver_



Then she set it to the side and glanced at the ceiling, praying for strength. There wasn't a chance in the galaxy that she was going to be able to sneak out by noon. There was even less of a chance that she was willing to risk it. She'd doused Jim's temper the night before, and they'd reached that tentative truce... and that mention of friendship...

She had to decide between betraying Jim's trust and risking being revealed. She scrambled over the bed, threw open the desk drawer, and yanked out a pen and inkwell. Shakily she scribbled:

_Silver-_

_I can't leave the inn. I'm confined for two days. If I leave my room, I'll lose my position on the ship and then I'll be no help to you at all, and your leverage will be useless. Other ideas?_

_Nick_

She folded the note over and raced to the door. Mari was nowhere in sight. "Damnit," she breathed. Then she sucked in a breath and bellowed, "MARI!"

"WAH-AT?!" cried Mari in reply, thumping up a few stairs and appearing round the corner.

"Can you find that guy who gave you this? I'll pay you more. I need you to deliver this back to him."

Mari rolled her eyes. _Customer service my arse, _thought Nick. "I bet he's still outside. Didn't move too fast, if ya know what I mean. I can catch him. Why didn't he tell me to wait for a response?"

"Betting he wasn't counting on one. Just take it, please?"

"Fine! I'll be back in a bit." Mari huffed off a little, hair swinging and hands clenched. Nick spent the next twenty minutes pacing, then lying haphazardly flung across the bed, then on her stomach watching the door, then sitting on the floor, leaning back on the bed. The cycle repeated itself a few times with minor variations, such as picking at the wound on her palm to dislodge the splinter. By the time she had removed the offensive shard, Mari returned looking mildly furious. "He was not nice about that. What did you say in that note? He read it through once and then started shouting at me, and calling you all kinds of things—which I'll keep to myself cause my mama raised me better'n to say such foul—"

"Did he say anything constructive? Like a response?"

"If there was one hidden in all that mess of cussin', I missed it. Sorry, sir."

"Rrrgh," grunted Nick. "That's fine. Not your fault. Thanks, Mari." Nick dug around in her pocket for a coin and came up with three coppers. She handed two of them to Mari. "Will that do? I haven't got much more."

"Mm-hmm. That'll do fine. Thank'ee sir!"

"Bye, Mari."

Had Nick known that Mari was to be her last interaction for the day, she might have prolonged the dialogue. Unfortunately for her, the fear of having to cough up any further tips outweighed the desire for 

conversation, and thus she condemned herself to a day of staring at various walls. When lunch was delivered to her room at midday she opened the door to a tiny trashcan-shaped robot, with the tray containing watery soup and a slice of bread balanced on outstretched... well, 'arms' wasn't really the right word. She thanked the bot, which beeped and clicked and hummed in response, then whirred down the corridor to clank painfully down the steps. Nick was surprised that she hadn't spotted the bot before, but then scolded herself for assuming that Mari and Ruus did all the work alone. It only made sense to have a bot.

Too late she remembered to ask for a pair of shears to trim her hair, and she cursed her wavered attention. Perhaps there was some not-so-hidden reluctance to cut her hair again...

She shook her head and the too-long hair and sat down to lunch. _Only another day and a half..._ she thought to herself.

Jim dragged himself into the inn after sunset that night. It had been a long, wearying day—he had been back on the Galaxy overseeing the repairs and keeping an eye on the craftsmen themselves. The princess's quarters had been locked, but there was still a tempting amount of wealth stored on the ship, and not all of it silver and gold. Jim thought the captain overly mistrusting when he received the assignment, but during the course of the day he had seized no fewer than four workers and asked them to empty their pockets of a necklace, a sack of cocoa, a pistol and short sword from the captain's armory, and a rather large and pathetically conspicuous sack of edameadre (a Carpathian delicacy that was intended as a gift to the princess's betrothed). He was tired, hot, and hungry. He did not want to have to deal with another back-talking thief, and he didn't want to have to threaten another man over something as stupid as a bag of chocolate powder. He severely disliked being reminded that the world was even more corrupt than he had given it credit for.

When he walked through the door, he was greeted by a din of fiddling, and a shrill soprano voice. The song was an unfamiliar folk tune, but the singer was clearly not doing it justice, even to his untrained ears. Her vocalizing was well out of her range, and she ran the words together to form a string of syllables. He grimaced and walked over to the bar to request his dinner upstairs.

"_Iamtha voyusin thawin dan thepoor-ingrain, I amtha voyusof yorhun gerand pain."_

He made another face and rolled his eyes. Even he, a man of no particular musical talent or inclination could tell that this was not the way the song was intended to sound. He stomped up to his room, ensuring that everyone on the floor knew he was there. There was a strange pleasure to stomping like a child, especially when he could (and did) blame the Navy-issue boots.

When he reached his room he found the door ajar, the noise from the tavern was dimmed by the distance and barriers, but the essence of the fiddler's effort managed to waft up through the open door and window. It was much more enjoyable at this level. He glanced around and spotted Nick lying on the bed on her back with her head hanging over the opposite edge. It occurred to him that it was unlikely she had noticed his arrival, because her view was limited to the upside-down window. Then she managed to utterly flabbergast him. In what he could only assume was a display of painful boredom, she had started singing along with the tavern music—

_I am the voice of the past that will always be  
Filled with my sorrow and blood in my fields.  
I am the voice of the future, bring me your peace—  
Bring me your peace, and my wounds, they will heal._



She wasn't an excellent singer, but she carried the tune well enough. Jim found himself approving, but wary at having caught her unguarded (and betraying herself), he stepped backwards into the hall and rapped lightly on the door. "Anyone home?"

Nick sat up in an instant, the blood trying to simultaneously flood and drain from her face. Her expression was two parts horror, one part fear, and three parts comical startlement. "Omigo—you scared me! Holy mother..." she pressed a hand to her heart and shouted accusingly, "Gawd... I thought my heart was gonna explode..."

Jim smirked. "Well maybe paying more attention to your surroundings would be a good idea..." She blushed at the admonition, not realizing that he was intentionally alluding to her little sing-along.

"Well... yeah, but I just... I was alone all day and I didn't think you'd be back so early..." she looked to her bare feet for another response, but it appeared that none was forthcoming.

"I'm glad you didn't—that reaction made my night," he chuckled.

She pulled a face at him. "Well good thing one of us enjoyed it."

A silence settled in the air as he went over to the desk to dump his things, and pulled off his jacket. She watched awkwardly, unable to think of a single thing to say despite having an entire day's worth of conversation backed up in her system. He let the silence flourish, having nothing particularly pleasant to share about his day and absolutely no desire to relive the unpleasant bits.

A sharp knock on the door frame hailed Mari's arrival with Jim's dinner. He thanked her and sent her away, but placed the tray on the desk untouched. Nick fidgeted on the bed, feeling intrusive and _very _trapped. "This is gonna sound idiotic...are you mad?"

Jim sighed a little. "Not mad. Tired. I'm tired of the world being full of liars and thieves."

Nick's face went a little white, and Jim cursed mentally. "Not at you, Nick. Although I'm sure you've lied to me at some point. Like that time you told me you peeled that entire bucket of purps that I later discovered untouched."

Nick swallowed. "Yeah... I think I might've lied a couple times..."

"I know—" WHAT THE HELL WAS HE DOING? His mouth had completely bypassed his brain! Somehow he had almost told her he knew about her secret! He caught himself and garbled a few filler syllables while he tried to find a new ending for that sentence. "—everybody lies sometimes." Stupid. What a pathetic answer. What was he, a children's book? His mind raced for a recovery. "But sometimes it's for a good reason. The people today lied through their teeth in order to cheat me. That's different, and _that_ ticks me off." Recovery: weak but complete.

Awkwardness seeped into the silence and both of them fiddled a bit, waiting for the moment to pass. It didn't. Eventually they both went about their pre-bed routines and wound up in their respective sleeping places with the lights out.

As she lay awake, Nick realized that the weirdness stemmed from the fact that they had spent the entire day apart. That had never happened before. They had no common ground from the day, nothing shared and nothing to share. Clearly Jim's had been a bad day, and she felt that complaining about hers would be a 

bad move, so the fact that they hadn't mutually suffered the bad day gave them nothing to talk about. She was _not_ looking forward to tomorrow.

--

The next day was so mind-numbingly boring that there is nothing to tell. In the space of nearly twelve hours, Nick managed to bathe, trim her hair, eat lunch, and read a newspaper. Every single word of it. Then she moved on to a small book of proverbs collecting dust on top of the desk. It was painful. Possibly the worst punishment she had ever endured. Her inability to do absolutely _anything_ was creating a sense of despair that hung over her like a cloud. Eventually she fell asleep at the desk, poring over the tome of near-ancient proverbs. She drooled a little on "When thou findest thy heart, thou findest thy home." When Jim returned in the evening he laughed and prodded her awake, and then steered her to the bed. Then he went back to the desk to see what had been so fascinating as to put her to sleep. His eye fell on the drool-glazed proverb. He scanned down the page and his expression darkened a little

"All secrets are deep. All secrets become dark. Such is the nature of secrets."

He didn't sleep particularly well that night. It seemed to him that Nick's secret had already been deep and dark for a while now. What would come _after_ the deep and dark was what worried him.

--

The next morning dawned cloudy and sticky with the promise of rain. The air was hot and thick, and there wasn't a breeze to stir even the flags on the masts of the ships in port. It was the muggiest day anyone had seen in months. It was the most beautiful one Nick could ever remember. After waking absurdly early (again) and waiting for Jim to rise, she bounced down to breakfast, and bounded out the door before Jim could finish eating.

"Where are you going? Did you even eat?"

"I had enough! I'm going outside! I missed _people_!" she called over her shoulder.

He quickly ate two more large bites and followed her out, finding her standing against the building, eyes closed and head tipped back to absorb the mayhem that was the city. He nudged her arm with an elbow, and her eyes snapped open. She smiled widely at him. "It feels so good to be ungrounded. Remind me not to do that again."

He laughed. "I've been trying to tell you that all along!"

"Well maybe now I'll listen! I don't ever want to get shut up in my room again... that was terrible." She gave a light shudder, then brightened again. "What's the plan for today?"

"Well we have to visit the craftsmen who spent the last two days repairing the ship, and make sure that everything got done that was supposed to be. We paid a deposit to each, so now I have to pay them the rest."

"And this afternoon?"

"Well aren't we optimistic? This could easily take all day. Their shops are scattered all over the port."



"It won't. What's for this afternoon?"

"Well, we're done as soon as we hit all the shops. But it _could_ take all day."

"I don't think it will, but so what if it does? I don't mind. Let's get started!" She took off at a brisk walk, going about twenty paces before realizing that Jim hadn't moved. "Wrong way?"

"Wrong way," he confirmed. She sighed dramatically and turned to follow him.

--

When the sun hit its apogee at noon that day, there wasn't a chance that anyone in port would have known it. The clouds had thickened over the morning, building to a heavy storm. There was thunder in the distance, and every so often lightning would flicker in the clouds near the horizon. It appeared to be twilight, given the darkness, but Jim's pocket watch stoutly denied this.

"It's really gonna pour, isn't it?" asked Nick.

Jim glanced at the sky. "What gives you that idea?" he asked mockingly, raising an eyebrow. Nick blushed slightly, rolling her eyes. She was trying not to show it, but the idea of the rain rolling in was worrying her. It would certainly not do to be stuck out halfway across the port with Jim, soaking wet and with her clothes sticking to her...

"I was just wondering. You're from Montressor, right? So you know all about rain."

"That's like saying you're from the spaceport, so you know how to sail a ship. All I knew about the rain was that it never went away, it was annoying, and it was a threat to my solar surfer. It was never like today either—this weather is nasty. The rain might be a relief." Both of them were sweaty and sticky with the humidity.

"Solar surfer? That's awesome! Could you teach me to surf?!"

He gave her a sidelong glance. "I don't have my board here. It's not like I could bring it with me—this is still a job."

She looked away, more disappointed than anything. "Damn. You're right. Sorry, I forgot."

"Having too much fun? I never thought you'd forget this was a job."

"Oh yeah, loads of fun. Never-ending excitement. Thrills around every corner," she deadpanned, rolling her eyes. He laughed. "That's ok. I was just looking for another distraction from the mountains of chores waiting for me when we get back on that boat."

"Yeah, well sometimes chores are the easy part. The captain is spending today looking for a new cook—he said last night that Giff resigned. Gave no reason, just handed the captain a note and disappeared. The captain is _not_ pleased." Jim sighed. "I'm glad he'd already given me this assignment; I don't think I'd like interviewing cooks all day. But I bet you're glad he's gone." He looked down at her again, and saw that the color had dropped from her cheeks, and she was staring at the shops with a thoughtful and concerned look. "Are you okay?"



"Yeah... I'm fine. I bet you'll like the cook the captain hires, though," she said nonchalantly. Jim found this a rather odd comment, and was about to point out to her exactly how weird she was being when she continued, "I wonder if the captain'll switch me back to being the cook's charge? Now that he's got a new one and all. Let you get back to your real job, instead of babysitting me."

Jim stayed silent. He didn't particularly like that plan, but it felt odd to say so out loud. Especially when he had no real reason except that they were friends, and he couldn't tell her _that_. Nor the captain for that matter. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, I guess." Lame. _Still can't talk to girls, huh Jim? Even when they think you think they're boys._

"Where to next? The woodshop, right? It went mechanic, riggings, supply then woodshop."

"No, we can't hit the woodshop until after lunch. It closes at noon every day. But we can stop and get some food if you like..."

"Where?"

"Glad you asked. I'm starving." He steered her to a little lunch wagon parked in the mouth of an alley between two shops. While she looked on in fascination, he ordered two "ploughman's'", paid, and handed her a napkin wrapped around a bit of cheese, a chunk of bread, and a purp. She followed him around the building and they sat on the curb on the corner and ate off of their laps. Morph leaped from Jim's pocket to snatch a scrap of bread from Nick.

"You know, I've never actually eaten food from a lunch wagon before. I lived in a port my entire life, and never once ate lunch on the street," she confessed, swallowing a bite of cheese.

"Well then you _really_ missed out. What finer dining could be found in a port? There are lines out the—well they would be out the door if lunch wagons had doors, but you know what I mean." She laughed, and he smiled at the sound. Morph looked between them happily, nibbling on his bread.

"No, where I was I didn't get out much. I guess there was a lot to see and do, but I didn't have the time, or the chance. I'm getting to know what the port looks like from outside the tavern."

"The tavern? You mean your grounding?"

"Yeah... that's what I meant." She took a large bite out of her purp, and stared hard at her napkin, mentally scolding herself. Talking about the past was a no-no. Sharing leads to questions and questions demand answers that she couldn't give.

"Well, we're done after the woodshop. As long as you behave today, there's no reason I can't show you around some more of the port. I know you've already seen the docks, so we'll skip those..."

Nick grinned. "Those sound like some famous last words. Now I just _have_ to get into some trouble. You practically begged for it." Morph giggled and echoed, "Begged for it!"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. What happened to staying ungrounded? Are you really that attached to the tavern that you want to go back and stay inside for two more days?"

" No, but you've brought it on yourself. Touch some wood to be sure it doesn't happen!" Jim smiled warily. He really hoped this kid was joking. Suddenly, lighting illuminated the sky, and thunder rumbled a 

little less 'in the distance' than they would have preferred. They glanced around, trying to take a cue from the natives. Nobody was hustling into the shops, and the lunch vendor hadn't even put up his umbrella. "I don't think we need to be running, but maybe we ought to—"

_CRASH!_

A huge bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, and thunder like shattering glass echoed through the air. Morph yelped and dove into Jim's pocket again. "Did you hear that?"

"The thunder? No, Nick, I'm totally dea—"

"No, not the thunder!! I heard glass—I _thought_ I heard glass break." She seemed unsure, but wrapped her lunch quickly and stood to peer around the building.

"Nick! Where are you going? That was just the thunder!"

She shushed him abruptly, and warily glanced around the corner. Jim watched as she recoiled, and then stormed angrily into the alley, shouting, "Hey! Stop that! What are you doing?!"

"NICK!" He scrambled up and raced after her. When he came around the corner, he was met with something he was unprepared for. Nick was standing in the center of the alley, facing a boy easily twice her size. Not to mention the crew of hooligans standing behind him, looking ready to smash the little twerp who dared challenge their leader. As he watched in horror, the leader pulled back to deliver a crushing blow. Without thinking, Jim hand went to his side and drew the Navy-issue pistol he never thought he'd have to use. "FREEZE!" he cried.

The boy glanced up, and his eyes fell on the weapon humming in Jim's steady hands. He stepped back from Nick, hands up in an attempt at a peaceful gesture. Nick ducked to the side, and disappeared from Jim's line of vision. In a calm voice he said, "You were about to assault a member of her Majesty's Royal Navy. I don't think you quite understood what you were getting into. Now that the information has been brought to your attention, I'm sure you recognize that your best course of action is to turn and leave. Am I correct?"

The leader slowly nodded a few times, shot a withering glance in Nick's general direction, and then he and his cohorts quickly exited the scene. When the last one was out of sight, Jim dropped the weapon and flicked the safety on. He did not, however, re-holster it.

A whine came from the shadows where Nick had ducked when the gun came out. Jim walked closer and peered around. A large black dog lay on the ground, shattered glass all around, with several bleeding gashes on his muzzle, head and shoulders. His long tail tentatively thumped the ground as he ate the remains of Nick's lunch from her hand. "They were throwing bottles at him," said Nick without looking up. Her voice shook with anger. "They were torturing him. I couldn't let them do that Jim..." Eventually she glanced up and met Jim's angry gaze. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause trouble, Jim..."

"You never do, do you? It just follows you around like a shadow. Everything you do, you manage to get yourself or someone else into danger. Nick, you have to _think_ before you pull stuff like this! What made you think you could take on a gang like that?! Or did you just _assume_ I'd be here to back you up?"

"I—"



"Nick, you could have died!" Thunder crashed overhead. "They were going to _kill_ you! Did that not register with you??"

"But they... they were going to kill _him_. I couldn't just—"

"Yes, you could've just. You put your own life in danger to save _a dog._"

"I put myself in danger to save someone who couldn't save themselves!"

"And then you made me do the same thing! At least I did it for a person!"

"You don't understand, Jim," she looked back down at the dog. "You've always been the rescuer. How many times have you needed to be rescued?"

Jim had no answer for that. Not once in all his life had he needed to be saved. Maybe from himself, for a few years during his adolescence. But never from an assailant. They stood in tense silence, as the rain began to fall. She rose and started to leave the alley. "We should get going."

"We need to talk about this, Nick. You can't just rush in and save everyone who needs help."

"Why not, if I'm in a position to help? And we can talk later. Let's get out of the rain."

"Who said you were in a position to help? You had no weapon, no plan, and you certainly couldn't have taken them on your own, not in a fist fight."

"Let's talk later, Jim! I want to get out of the rain!"

"No, Nick, let's talk now! Nothing changes if it rains, or snows, or if a plague of freaking locusts comes down out of the sky!"

"I don't want to have an argument in an alley, in the rain, in the middle of the city, Jim!"

"Trust me, nothing changes in the rain."

"Jim, I want to go inside."

"I don't."

"I _have _to—"

"No, you don't. Trust me when I say _nothing changes in the rain_."

She stared at him, horror-struck. She watched unblinking as he peeled off his jacket and tossed it to her. She caught it and shrugged it on, pulling it tightly around herself and folding her arms across her chest. "How long?" she croaked.

"Take a wild guess, Nick."

"The day I jumped," she said flatly.

"I'd've had to be numb from head to foot not to have guessed at least a little."



"I can't believe this." She sank down to sit on a crate. Cold raindrops pelted her head in a staccato rhythm that matched the thoughts tumbling around her mind. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't want to tell you because I thought you'd run, and you were doing a really good job as a cabin boy. And I was starting to realize that I was lonely as the first mate and it was nice to have company. All selfish reasons, I know, but—" he was interrupted by a rumble of thunder. Nick continued to stare at the ground as though she hadn't heard him. He waited for her to react, expecting shouting, and anger, and (oh horrors) tears... but none of that came. "Are you okay?" Morph peeped out from his jacket pocket, and chirped, "Okay?"

Nick looked up suddenly. Blue eyes met blue eyes through a haze of raindrops and gloom. "I want—I _really _want to be angry at you, but I can't. I was trying, just now. I was trying to find it, because I knew I should be angry, or scared, or something. But I'm relieved, and only a little angry, and I just feel really tired. And surprised, I guess. That I'm not angry. Or scared."

"Why aren't you?"

"Angry? Or scared?"

"Either."

"I'm not angry because you're right. You would've had to be numb from head to toe not to have figured me out. And that's my fault, for doing such a stupid thing. So I'm not mad that you found out. I'm a little mad that you didn't tell me you found out, but I think that's only because I'm not scared. And I'm not scared because you haven't told. And both reasons you gave were things that mean you'd like to keep me around for a bit. And I'd like to stay around. So I don't think you'll tell on me anytime soon."

"And the relief?" he prodded, thinking that there was a solid chance that she was crazy.

"I don't have to lie to you anymore. I never particularly liked that bit anyway."

Jim sighed. "I'm relieved too. I thought you'd be angry with me. Or that you'd run away. Or something that equaled more drama... or paperwork."

Nick laughed. "No, but I'm still in a bit of shock. The yelling might come later."

"I hope not." They both turned to walk out of the alley when a whimper came from behind them. The dog had risen and followed, and now stood with his head lowered and his tail wagging pathetically. He looked to be asking permission to follow. Nick turned to Jim, and said the words his own mother had heard more times than either of them could count.

"Can I keep 'im?"

--

That night in their room Nick bathed the dog, and combed through his short fur to get the mats out. They fed him from their own dinners and made up a little bed in the corner for him with the old newspaper and a spare blanket. He went over, circled thrice, and then lay down with a _whuff_. Morph flew over to settle on the dog's head, and curled up to sleep.



"I checked him for nits and fleas, and he hasn't got anything that I could spot," she walked over to sit on the bed. "He doesn't seem like much of a street dog—he must've had a home at some point. But no collar. That's the problem."

Jim came to sit beside her. "But there's no sign of regular feeding, so he must've been on the streets for a couple of months. Long enough for someone who lives here to have found him."

"So do you think it's fair if we take him with us?" Nick glanced over at the dog, who looked back at her with pleading chocolate brown eyes. "I think he knows we're talking about him." As if on cue, the dog rose, walked over to the bed, and put his head on Nick's knee. Morph chattered his annoyance at being wakened, but followed.

"I think so. He's been pretty badly treated here. He's definitely safer with us. We'll keep an eye out tomorrow for any missing dog posters, but I think it's safe to say he's yours. At least as far as he's concerned." Jim smiled. The dog was happily panting and wagging his tail as Nick scratched behind his ears. "What's his name?"

Nick looked down into the dog's eyes, cupping his muzzle in her hands. The dog looked back at her, patiently waiting for the scratching to resume.

"Ishmael," she pronounced.

"Nice to meet you, Ishmael sir," said Jim formally. The dog lifted his head from Nick's lap, leaned over to sniff Jim's hand, and nudged it with his nose.

Morph flew around happily, crying "Ishmael! Ishmael!" Then he looped around the dog's neck and formed a red collar, complete with blank dog tags. Ishmael shook himself as though trying to dislodge his new collar, and Morph flew off giggling.

Nick sighed and looked up at Jim seriously. "So what changes now? Just today we almost got killed, had a huge fight, confessed deep dark secrets, and got a dog. And yet here we are, acting like nothing's changed. Something's gotta give, Jim! What happens now?"

Jim sat silently for a moment, scratching Ishmael's head. Morph settled onto the dog's bed in the corner, and Nick blushed and felt stupid for being tactless.

"What would you change, Nick? Seriously, there's nothing that is different. As far as I'm concerned you didn't just become a girl today. You've been one for weeks, and I've been working you just as hard regardless. You do your job well, and I'm not going to punish you or reward you any differently just because you're female. I think that law is superstitious and idiotic, because there's not a reason in the galaxy that girls can't do the jobs boys can. You've proven that. And as far as off-duty... well like I said, you didn't become a girl today. I've had a while to get used to the idea. It might even be better if nothing changes at all, so no one on the ship notices."

At his words, there was a knock at the door. Jim rose and opened it, revealing the scrawny figure of Mr. Slopes. "The cap'n wants t' see us downstairs. Says he's found the new cook and wants t' intr'duce 'im to us."

"I'll be there in a second," replied Jim, starting to close the door. "Wait," he paused. Mr. Slopes turned back to answer. "What's the man's name?"



"I think 'e said Sylvan. Or sumthin' like 'at. Maybe Sylar? I'm pretty sure it was Sylvan, though."

Jim closed the door and turned back to Nick. Softly and in unison, they reached the same conclusion.

"_Silver."_


	12. Chapter 11: THE TRUST GAME

A/N: Well boy howdy! You guys are spiffy!! I've gotten some awesome reviews, and I want to thank all of you who took the time to let me know what you think! There's really nothing more motivational than knowing that people want more!  I fail at naming names in the notes here, because there are too many of y'all to name, but if you review I do try to respond to each of you individually. Thanks so much for everything, and I'm looking forward to your opinions on this chapter too! Love y'all!

Anything you recognize from the movie is copyrighted to Disney. Anything new, unusual, or absurd is my own, but sadly is not making me millions like it would for Disney. 

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE TRUST GAME**

Jim stood in Captain Trelawney's borrowed headquarters, hands clasped behind his back and his posture anything but 'at ease', despite the captain's command. The cabin girl stood beside him, the second mate on the other side of her, and mere feet away, on the other side of the room, stood his oldest and most dangerous friend.

"Mr. Hawkins, Mr, Slopes, and Mr. Morgan, I'd like you to meet Mr. Sylvan. He's to be our new cook, and I'd like you to help him adjust to our ship. That'll be easier said than done, considering that we're a ways into our journey, but he assures me he's dealt with more belligerent crewmen than ours. Some of the present company excepted," he added belatedly, eyeing Nick.

"Aye, Cap'n," agreed the large man. Jim stared unrepentantly at the figure he cut—there was a patch over his cyborg eye, and the kerchief he had tied around his head covered the machinery replacing his ear. The metal of his cyborg arm seemed older and more worn, and was certainly a different alloy than the last time Jim had seen it. The only thing that remained the same was the mechanical leg. The speech pattern was different too—where his accent had been a strong Eireish brogue, it was now mixed with a bit of the Glennish accent, and seemed to be tainted by several different seaports' slangs. "Er, about t' lad... I don' take t' cabin boys. I'd prefer no' t' have to keep an eye on t' pup."

"Agreed, Mr. Sylvan. Mr. Morgan, despite the fact that you have been a constant source of aggravation and discontent on our ship, you have improved under Mr. Hawkins' watch and I have decided to allow you the privilege of remaining as his charge. I'd prefer not to lose a second cook on this voyage."

"Yessir."

The captain looked to Jim in surprise. "Is he alright?"

"Sir, he's trying to avoid another grounding."

"Ah," understanding crossed his face. "Seems that punishment made an impression, eh boy?"

"Yessir."

Captain Trelawney looked pleased. "Dismissed. And don't forget, we launch at 0600 hours tomorrow."

When they left the room, Nick whispered, "Does that mean we have to be on the ship before that?"

"Try 0500. We're gonna wake up at 0430. Make sure Ishmael gets his sleep," whispered Jim with a bit of a grin, "I'm gonna talk to Mr. Sylvan for a minute."

"See ya."

Nick darted up the stairs. Jim watched her for a moment, forgetting himself. 'Sylvan' cleared his throat, startling Jim a little. "What?"

Silver smirked. "Whatcha lookin' at, boy?"

Jim didn't falter. "Making sure he didn't trip. He's hopelessly clumsy, you know."

"Ah, I see. 'Ere, follow me, lad. We can talk fer a bit in me room."

"The captain got you a room? Don't you have one somewhere else?"

"I was havin' a kip on an old friend's tab. It's best if I didn't overstay me welcome."

Jim shook his head. "Note the lack of shock."

Silver chuckled heartily. "Aye, lad, I know yeh know me better n'at. I do what I hafta t' get by. T'ain't nut'in' wrong wi' dat." They climbed the stairs, and down the hall a bit. The door to Silver's room swung open heavily, and the two shuffled in. While the door hung open, their voices carried into the hall.

"Including getting hired on a Navy ship, mid-voyage, despite being a wanted criminal and mutineer?"

"Well o' course, Jimbo! But in dat case I was doin' what I wanted, not what I had t'. It was breakin' me 'eart t' hafta say another g'bye to yeh."

The door creaked closed behind them, effectively cutting off their conversation to the pair of ears that sat listening in the next hall. Nick glanced around the corner, saw that the men had disappeared, and sighed. Then she headed up to the bedroom to get some sleep before the launch.

When the door shut behind him, Jim turned to Silver. "I'm only guessing here, but judging by your reaction, you noticed something odd about the cabin boy a couple of days back."

Silver paused a moment before answering. "Aye, lad…"

"I don't want you to tell me what it is. Unless there's something else life-threatening about Nick, I already know what you know. Just, keep it to yourself."

Another pause as Silver digested this. "I'm glad yeh already know, but now I'm confused. Why didn't ya turn 'er in?"

"Because I disagree with that law same as she does. I don't think it should hold her back and keep her tied to something she wants to escape. I know how that feels."

Silver sighed and sat heavily. "Well alright t'en, lad. I'll let yeh decide fer yerself. I don' feel much better knowin' yeh know, though."

Jim grinned. "What, trying to shield me from lawbreakers now? A little late for that, _Sylvan._"

They both laughed, but it was slightly uneasy and tinged with memories neither wanted to dwell on.

--

When the dawn broke in the morning, it streaked the once-cloudy grey sky with ribbons of pink, purple, and gold. The suns rose is perfect unison over the jagged horizon of the spaceport, and the rays of light illuminated the sleepy town with a golden halo. The light glinted off the smooth, polished wood of the Galaxy's mast, and played in the new ropes of its riggings. It was a perfect morning, and the ship was ready for launch.

Nick was perched high in the riggings. The sunrise danced in her hair and along her bronzed skin, and she stared sleepily into the dawn sky. Unfortunately, about ninety-seven percent of the prettiness was utterly lost on her.

"Damn ship, and damn fool captain. Nobody in their right bloody mind wakes up _this_ early— even _I_ sleep later than this... it's too early to launch a kite, never mind a whole damn ship," she muttered to herself. Morph giggled on her shoulder and chirped, "Too early!"

Down on the deck, Jim was overseeing the launch while the captain looked on. It was another step in the process of Jim slowly taking over as captain, and learning to run the ship on his own. He paced the deck, calling out orders and double-checking the work. Ishmael stayed close by his side, his tail wagging cheerfully. He seemed excited but wary, understanding the energy in the air but careful not to get underfoot. It was strange to Jim that the dog wasn't following Nick, but on second thought he hadn't seen Nick for a while now. He guessed she was belowdecks with Silver.

"What's the holdup? Heave 'er ho, boys! Let's get this thing back in the sky where she belongs!" A scattering of 'aye-aye's and salutes were seen, but the crewmen pulled into their ranks and did as they were ordered. With a few thrown switches and some more shouting, the ship pushed into gear and rocketed away from the port. The breeze that had played about on the deck was momentarily overwhelmed by the wind rushing over the deck from the sudden burst of speed, but then it died back down. When the ship reached the standard pace, the crew heaved a collective sigh of exhaustion and relief. But there was no sign of slowing in their movements, every man knew where to be and what to do. Jim surveyed them proudly, scanning the crowd but pausing on a black silhouette lying at the foot of the mainsail, looking up into the riggings. His eye followed up the mast, finding a little figure twined in the riggings, absurdly high for someone not required to be there. He marched over to where Ishmael was, and the dog sat up to greet him with a wet nose pushed into his palm. "What's she doin' up there, boy?" he asked the mutt softly. Ishmael whined and looked up to where his girl sat.

Jim pulled out his whistle and blew hard, striking the tones that called for the cabin boy. He watched as she nimbly—but reluctantly—clambered down the ropes, landing on her feet facing him. Ishmael gave her and immediate once-over, and when he was sure that she smelled right, sat beside her. "What were you doing up there, Nick? Aren't you supposed to be doing something?"

"Uh... I'll be heading to the galley, thanks."

Jim rubbed his eyes with hand. "Nick, you have to stay where you're supposed to be. You can't just wander."

"Yes sir, I know that sir, but I was just in the rigging for the launch. I was coming right down to... er, get back to work."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Sure, Nick. I believe you." And he rolled his eyes to demonstrate his faith.

"Cut it out. I'm not in the mood, okay? I'm just… I've got chores."

He shook his head and looked down at Ishmael, who cocked his head in puzzlement and gave a little wag of his tail, then followed her down the stairs. Morph, looking equally lost, sank down into Jim's pocket.

"_Girls..._" muttered Jim under his breath.

--

Nick stomped her feet all the way down the galley stairs. She didn't want to be here on the ship, she didn't want to have to work in the kitchens—hell, she didn't even want to be _awake_. Jim didn't need to be so curst annoying; she knew her job and she'd do it... eventually. Couldn't she just have a few minutes to wake up? It wasn't like she was always so foggy—it was just taking her a bit longer to hit full speed than usual.

"Ah, lad! Finally comin' t' grace t' galley wit' yer cheery presence, eh?"

"Stuff it, Silver. I'm about ninety percent sure you told Jim what you know, and the only reason I don't feel like killing you is that I found out he already knew. So what d'ya need me to get done?"

"Well I… I was gettin' t' dat. Ain't yeh jes' a righ' barrel o' sunshine dis mornin'?"

"Not really, nor do I desire to be so. There are various _actual _suns that serve that particular purpose." Her hands hung at her sides—she lifted one palm to be parallel to the floor. Ishmael stepped forward from his place behind her and tucked the top of his head against her hand.

Silver looked curiously at the dog. "Seems I'm no' t' only stray yeh picked up in harbor, eh?" He bent a little and beckoned to the dog, who wagged his tail cautiously and took one step forward. "Shy? Well, yeh'll be rid o' tha' righ' soon, when yeh're beggin' me fer scraps!" He laughed uproariously at his own joke while Nick looked on, unfazed. Silver caught his breath, and looked up at the surly young girl. "Well I can see dat yer no' in de righ' mood fer good humor—in dat case yeh can keep dat barrel o' veg'ables comp'ny till yeh t'ink yer fit t' be 'round others. Peel as many as it takes—I won' disturb yeh."

She glanced up at him, momentarily allowing her surprise to show. "Thanks..." She snagged a knife and lurched over to the corner table by the barrel, plopped down onto the bench, and pulled out a round, reddish-orange vegetable.

She went into a kind of daze, pulling each blood-halkun out and painstakingly skinning it—concentrating on the feel of the knife in her hand, the crimson flesh of the vegetable, and the crisp, earthy smell that emanated from it. She only barely noticed when Ishmael dropped onto her feet and fell asleep, and didn't notice at all when Jim came down the stairs to check on her. She was in her own little world, and had even lost count of the number of blood-halkuns that had passed through her hands.

"So that makes—"

"—t'irty-two. I dunno _what_ I'm gonna make wit' t'irty-two halkuns in't, but it' kept 'er busy fer nigh on two hours. Can't say as I expected dat, but I'm grateful."

"Well if all you're gonna do is stick'er in the corner and let her peel unneeded fruit all day, shouldn't I put her back on deck to be useful?"

"I don' t'ink she'll be useful at all t'day. When yer in dat kind o' mood, dere's not'in' yeh really want t' do, so dere's not'in' yeh'll do well. But she's doin' a fine job on dose halkuns."

"Well the deck needs to be swabbed, and that's about as mindless a task as I can give her." He shrugged at the cook, and walked across the room to where she sat.

"Nick, put down the knife and follow me. I've got real work for you to do." Ishmael lifted his head at Jim's voice, and thumped his tail on the ground. Nick merely looked up at him briefly, her eyes wary and reluctant. The she returned to peeling the blood-halkun.

"I have to finish this."

"Silver says you're done."

"No, Silver said I could peel as many as it took for me to feel civilized," she replied neutrally. "By the way, I'm going to need another barrel."

"Lad, I think yeh've peeled enough," piped in Silver. "I'll be hard-pressed t' use all de veggies yeh've peeled already, and any more would jus' go sour."

Nick's face quickly went sour as she set the knife down next to the skinned halkun. "Fine. What d'you want me to do?"

"You're gonna swab the deck. Can you handle that? It's not that much more strenuous than peeling fruit—"

"—vegetables—"

"—Whatever. The point is that you've still got work to do, despite this… _mood_ you're in. So you can't just sit in the galley all day. Come with me."

She rose silently, and followed him to the deck. Silver looked on as she marched past, hoping there was a way she could work this funk out of her system. There was going to be trouble between the two if she didn't.

--

Jim watched her for a few minutes from the fo'c'sle. He ducked away when the captain called to him, and then returned three-quarters of an hour later. She was still at it. When he checked on her the second time, it became apparent that a half-hour chore had become a day's work. When the whistle blew for supper, he marched down, and grabbed her shoulder. "Come with me, right now."

She didn't obey. "What? Is there something else you know that I don't?"

Jim faltered for a moment. "_That's_ what this is about? Come on, Nick, you said you weren't mad!"

"I wasn't!"

"But you are now?"

"I dunno!"

"Well then what's gotten into you?"

"I don't _know_! All of a sudden there are _way_ too many people on this ship that know _way_ too much! _You_ know, _Alanna_ knows, and the _freaking cook_ knows!" she took a breath and tried to calm herself. "I just feel—trapped. Like the walls are closing in a little."

He growled through his teeth in frustration and put his hand to his head. "You are being very difficult," he pronounced.

Nick made a noncommittal sound, staring intently at the floor. Jim sighed and turned to walk away. "Well go on, then. Grab some dinner."

"Wait, what??"

"We've got nothing left to say. Go get dinner." He turned and walked away; leaving Nick standing on the deck in the falling twilight, wondering what she was going to do.

In the end, she didn't eat dinner. She clambered back up into the rigging where she always went to think. She sat and pondered, and sat and wondered, and sat and puzzled, but her disobedient mind refused to do as she asked and think of anything other than apologizing. So after a mere twenty minutes in the shrouds, she leapt back down to rejoin Ishmael at his post on the deck, and wandered in the direction of Alanna's cabin, knocking three times on the door before the princess called out for her to enter. Alanna was sitting on the little stool before her vanity, brushing her hair in the mirror. Once the maids were dismissed to their side-room, Nick sat on the trunk at the end of the bed with a heavy sigh. Ishmael sat at her feet, looking as though he wanted very much to run around and investigate all of the new smells in the room, but restraining himself before royalty.

"Natalya never went missing on the spaceport," she pronounced.

"No, she didn't," confirmed Alanna without looking up.

"Jim's known for a while now."

"Yes, he has."

"Why didn't you tell me he knew?"

"It wasn't mine to tell."

"I don't think that's fair. If you had told me, he wouldn't have sprung it on me like that."

"He told you?"

"Yes. And I didn't freak out at first… but I'm freaking out now."

"Why is it bothering you so much? It didn't seem to faze you when I found out." Alanna set the hairbrush down and spun on the stool to face Nick. She glanced at the dog with a moment's surprise, and patted her leg to beckon him. He trotted over and discovered to his pleasure that Alanna was very much a dog person.

"Because you're another girl. And you promised not to tell. And you didn't find out because you discovered certain anatomy that boys don't have."

Alanna had the grace to blush slightly. "He didn't mention to me how he found out."

"Well he found out because I acted like an idiot and he had to save my life, and in the process got a very clear idea of my… shape."

"Enough of that talk," said Alanna, blushing a little more. "Why can't you just ask him to promise?"

"Because I don't know if I would trust that promise. He's hidden this from me for months now."

"But he's hidden it from everyone else too. Doesn't that count for something?"

"Maybe." Nick groaned a little and put her head in her hands. "I got mad at him earlier. I might have yelled at him."

"Judging by that groan, you regret it. So apologize."

"It's not that easy!"

"You think I'm saying it will be easy? It's easy for me to _say_, but I don't have to do it. But that doesn't mean there's an easier answer. Would you rather he goes on thinking you're mad at him?"

"No… I don't know if I was mad in the first place. I just snapped at him because I feel so out of control…"

"Well there are two people on this ship that know. Out of about a hundred and fifty, that's not too bad. And you can trust both of them." Alanna smiled gently.

"Three."

"Pardon?" Alanna ceased her enthusiastic petting of Ishmael, who looked up at her sadly.

"Three people know. The new cook has a damned cyborg eye, and—"

"Watch your mouth! How did he find out?"

"Like I said, he's got that eye… he says it scanned me and gave him some kind of biological profile."

"That's not good… do you think he's trustworthy?"

"Well let's see, his first course of action was to blackmail me. That just screams 'trustworthy' doesn't it?"

"Not really… but if he thinks he can get something for it, then he'll probably keep it to himself."

"I hope so." Nick rose and walked toward the door. "Thanks, Alanna."

"Leaving so soon?"

"I have to apologize before I lose my nerve. Thank you for listening."

"Anytime, Nick."

Nick smiled and motioned to Ishmael. The two left the room, closing the door gently behind them. Alanna turned back to the vanity and picked up a small oval disc that had been sitting in a cradle. She pressed the tiny button at the center, and a holographic image appeared in the air above the disc. The image was one her parents had received from the king and queen of Myamin. It was of their son, her betrothed… the man she would marry in three weeks. Alanna sighed and placed the disc back in its cradle, the image of Alexandre still shimmering above it. She couldn't deny that he was handsome. She might even have picked him for herself, had she been able to choose her own husband. But now he was only a reminder of the fact that despite holding power over the entire Etherium, she would never be in control of her own life.

--

When she opened the door, he lay on his bed, tossing round object into the air above his head and catching it as it fell. She attempted to cross the room to her hammock, preferably without acknowledgement.

"Nick," he called. "Catch."

And then the thing was in the air, and her hand shot out to grab it before it hit her face. It hit her palm with a thunk, and the accompanying sting told her that whatever it was, it was made of metal. On closer inspection, she identifies markings on it's surface—circles and semicircles and lines all carved into the metal. And there… well it seemed to be glowing internally… she pulled it away from her face, where she had been scrutinizing it intensely. "It's not going to blow me up is it? I mean, it's glowing…"

He grinned. "No, it's not a bomb. It's a map."

"A map? Of what?"

"Treasure Planet."

She nearly dropped the ball to the floor. "What?"

"That's the map. That's the map Billy Bones gave me."

"But you said that the… the whole thing was destroyed! That there was nothing left of anything! How did you get this?"

"When we were getting off the planet. I was opening the portal to Crescentia. Right after I hit the button, I snagged this back out of the mechanism. Probably a bad idea—it made the whole portal thing hiccup and it almost didn't open, but…"

"But… shouldn't this be in a museum? Or being studied? Or something??"

"Probably. It will be eventually. I plan to give it to a museum or something when I die. But as long as I'm alive, there's no way Parliament is going to get their hands on it."

She grinned. "Oh, man! I bet they'd kill to get their hands on it!"

His face grew serious. "Almost. They'd put me in jail for withholding evidence."

The grin fell from her face like a stone. "What?"

"When we got back from Treasure Planet, they wanted to know everything we'd learned, everything we'd found, and they wanted to see everything we'd brought back. Their motives were pretty good—mostly to study the Forefathers and their technology. But before I could show them this, Amelia and Doppler told them everything had been destroyed. So they launched this investigation—long story short, it ended up being the main reasoning for the law that has you wearing pants right now. But I never got a chance to tell them I had it before they were threatening jail time, and then they stripped Amelia of everything she had, and I didn't _want_ to give it to them. So they can wait another seventy years to get their hands on it, as far as I'm concerned."

"Damn straight, they can," she affirmed.

"So do you think that even though I'm breaking the law, because you agree with what I'm doing I should trust you not to tell anyone I have that?"

Nick's stomach dropped through the floor. She closed her eyes and groaned. "Jim…"

"Don't say it's different. It's not. You've got as much power over me as I have over you. We're even. If I were to ever rat you out, you could turn around and give them that, and I'd be in jail right along with you."

"But you could hide this. There's not much I can do to hide what I am."

"True, but I can't hide it if you have it."

"But then you could tell them I had it."

"But where could you have gotten it? Me, Amelia, or Doppler. And you've never met either of them."

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. "I get what you're saying," she admitted. The ball rolled between her hands, and she tossed it back to him. "Thank you. I came in here to apologize, and I end up thanking you too. I'm sorry about how I acted today. I just… it was stressing me out."

"I could tell. Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah. A lot, actually. Thank you. And not because you gave me something to hold over you, either—it's because you made a good point. But I promise I'll never tell anyone about that as long as I live."

"And I'll never tell anyone about you. But I can't promise 'for as long as I live'. I kinda want to tell my kids and grandkids I knew a girl with the guts to break the law, dress like a boy, and sign on to a ship. It's a cool story, you gotta admit."

"I guess," she conceded. "It doesn't feel as cool right now."

"Why not? What am I missing? You told me about you as Nick—I'm assuming that's not your name, and so that's not your story. But even if you were a boy, that's pretty impressive."

"Well both are close. I was born Nicole. And I worked in a tavern—the only difference is that I wore a dress. I was a barmaid, until the innkeeper told me I was too old to wait tables and that I should start warming beds. I… my mother really was a, uh… _lady._ I really grew up raised by other ladies. But I wasn't gonna do that with my life. Because it scared me too much. I remembered my mom dying…slowly…" she slowly sat on the hammock, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. Ishmael had been curled up under the hammock, and he lifted his head to her so she could pet him. She patted his head, nibbling her bottom lip in thought. Jim was frozen, feeling that he shouldn't move or speak until she returned to her thought, because it seemed that she was dragging it up from somewhere really deep within her.

"I guess if I live to tell this story, I get to make it sound heroic and brave. But it's not, really. I took the option I was less scared of, because even if I died it would be a quicker death. Death scares me. A lot. It doesn't take guts to cut your hair or put on pants. And once you've done that, there's not much else left to do but go through with it, 'cause you sure as hell can't go back. And you know what they say? About courage and fear? Courage is doing something despite being scared, right? What if you do something because it scares you less?"

"I still think it was brave, Nick," he ventured.

Her gaze snapped up to meet his. "Oh, uh…" she blushed. "Well, thanks…"

"Geez. I… I don't know what to say."

"Well… talk about you. I don't know much about you."

"What is there to tell? I was at the Academy for the four years, and then I graduated. I spent a year on the Intrepid fighting off the Procyons, but they pulled me from that to do this mission. I'm not sure, but I think that's where I'm headed after this is over."

"The Procyons? Like, in battle?" Nick's eyes were wide.

"Yeah, in battle. With the killing and everything." He suddenly looked very tired, and his eyes were fixed on the floor.

"Is that why you got so mad when I almost made you kill that guy in the alley?"

"Kind of. I didn't ever want to have to pull a gun on a civilian. It's bad enough using them in a firefight."

Nick's gaze hit the floorboards again. "I'm sorry I made you do that."

"You didn't _make_ me. You prompted it, but I drew the gun on my own. And I didn't have to shoot, so I'm over it."

She continued to avoid his eyes while she kicked off her boots and snuggled back into her hammock. No other word was spoken until the lamp had been turned out, and the silence had ticked by for a good long time. Just when Jim thought she must have fallen asleep, she whispered into the darkness, "Thank you, Jim."

Though he was awake he did not respond, and not because he had nothing to say. He just couldn't say any of it.

--

"But sir, I don't understand. The ship is just… sitting there?"

"As far as we can tell. The crew of the Phoenix has been keeping an eye on it from a distance for about a day now. It's sitting right where they had expected to rendezvous with the Rogue. But there's been no sign of the Rogue, no computer transmissions have been recorded recently, and now there's an abandoned pirate ship sitting where our galleon was supposed to be."

"And the pirates have our galleon, our ammo, and our uniforms."

"Precisely. In another few hours the Phoenix will attempt to board the abandoned ship—I think they said it's called the Concord—and see if there are any soldiers… or bodies."

Jim closed his eyes briefly at the thought. _A hundred and fifty men don't just disappear into thin air_... he thought to himself. "There are bound to be bodies, aren't there."

"I'm not at liberty to make that judgment. I'll call you again when the report comes in. You're dismissed."

Jim saluted and turned to the door. This was very, very bad news. When he left the cabin he stood on the fo'c'sle and looked out at the crew. He was aware that, for the most part, ship assignments were randomized. If he hadn't needed the experience on this mission, if that had been his ship instead, he and all his men would be dead. He didn't know for sure if he knew any of those men who'd gone missing, but the thought that any of his classmates or acquaintances could be dead… if the men of the Rogue were dead, then the Navy had lost a hundred and fifty good, brave men. Even worse, what if the pirates had attacked the Galaxy? They were so close to their goal—only three more weeks until they met up with the prince's ship. They only needed to make it those few more weeks until they could safely deposit Alanna into the center of an armada, and then the Empire would be able to heave a collective sigh of relief.

He sighed and passed a hand over his face. There were a lot of 'ifs' in that line of thought. And his line of work didn't permit those. So he tried to push the 'ifs' from his head and return to the matters at hand. He looked out over the deck, watching the men scurry around and run barrels and ropes and suchlike from one end of the ship to the other. The only one not scurrying was the diminutive figure of the cabin boy, swabbing the deck for what must've seemed to her to be the millionth time. And it may well have been.

Jim walked down to the deck and gave some orders, sent some people scurrying, and made it seem like he had a purpose on the deck other than distracting the cabin boy. But when he approached she did not stop her work, did not acknowledge him other than to meet his eyes, and give him a small smile. Then she returned her attention to the task at hand, sweeping the mop back and forth in an S-shaped motion. "Is there something else you need, sir?"

"No," he said with a mild sigh.

She pulled the mop handle to her cheek, resting against it. "Have you talked to Silver yet?" she asked suddenly.

"No… why?" he was startled by her seemingly random question.

"Well you just look like you need some talkin' to. If you're needin' advice, it's most likely nothin' I can help with, so I though you oughta ask Silver."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "What makes you think I need 'talkin' to'?"

"Well you went like this," she set the mop against the rampart and walked up to the fo'c'sle. She looked out over it at him and mimed him, her face creased with concern and some sadness. Then she called to him. "And while you're down there, finish mopping that deck!"

"Ha ha funny, Nick. Get down here now," he called.

She slumped in exaggerated defeat, and returned to the deck. He handed her the mop and clapped her on the shoulder. "I'm going to go talk to Silver. I'll be back later."

"See you," she said with another small smile, returning to her work. Jim was halfway to the galley when he realized the change that had come over her. She'd smiled, and she hadn't argued with him when he'd ordered her to get back to work. She'd offered advice when she noticed he was concerned… the mere fact that she'd read his face so well surprised him. It was… well he felt like he was meeting a new Nick.

Down in the galley lunch was already cooking. The large room was filled with the scents of vegetables and spices, and the temperature was a bit higher inside than on the deck. Silver was bustling around, circling the central stove and the large pot atop it. "Well hey dere, Jimbo. What'cha looking fer?"

"Nothing. Just… dropping by."

"Any partic'lar reason? As yeh can see, I don' have teh cabin boy 'round 'ere, so if dat's who yer after—"

"No… Nick's on deck, working. I just came by for a little conversation."

"Some'in on yer mind, lad?"

He took a deep breath, and sighed. Apparently his face was like an open book for anyone who cared to read. He'd have to work on that. "Actually, I have a question for you. Have you ever heard of a ship called 'The Concorde'?" Jim knew he was breaking protocol, asking questions from an unreliable source who would more than likely manage to learn more from Jim in the answering than Jim would learn from the answer.

"Aye, I knew a ship by dat name once upon a time. Why d'you ask?"

"Just wondering. The name came up, and I wondered if you knew it."

"I wouldn't t'ink of askin' who yeh were talkin' to about Edward Archer's Concorde, but I'd wager it's not somet'in' tha's good news."

"You're right, but… I've already said too much, asking you about it."

"Well s'long as he ain't headed dis way dere'll be no trouble. He an' I 'ave never quite seen eye t' eye. I may not 'ave been a good man, but I was after me treasure. Archer… 'e doesn' 'ave 'is eye on anyt'in' in partic'lar. But 'e'll steal anyt'in' dat catches 'is fancy. I won' ask, but I'm hopin' 'e's not headed our way."

"Me too," said Jim quietly.


	13. Chapter 12: A WEATHER EYE Part 1

_A/N: I'm so sorry it has taken me so long to upload! Life's been a little hectic, and this was a really critical chapter. But rather than make you guys wait any longer, I've decided to upload it in two parts. Here's the first chunk—enjoy! Reviews are always appreciated!_

**CHAPTER TWELVE: A WEATHER EYE**

**Part One**

Nick stood in that universally awkward place—with a bowl of stew in her hand, with her back to the stove, surveying the galley and trying to find an open bench. She usually beat everyone to the meal, or waited until they left to eat lunch. But this time Silver threatened to let her starve rather than allow lunch to cook to the bottom of the pot while she worked. She had dropped her work and run, and now faced a full galley. She lifted her chin stubbornly and began striding toward the deck to eat. A hand shot out and grabbed her arm, and she looked down, startled.

"Sit here," said Jim.

"No, that's okay. I have to get back to work anyway, and—"

"Sit. I order it as your commanding officer."

She obeyed and was surprised to find Ishmael already curled under the table, waiting with Jim as though he'd already known she'd join them.

"You know, Nick, that 'commanding officer' bit is already getting old. Why don't you just do what I say the first time?"

"I dunno," she murmured, blowing on a bite of stew.

"You know I'm going to order you eventually," he pointed out, watching her face for the reaction.

"I hope each time that you'll forget," she fired back with a mischievous grin, popping the spoonful of stew into her mouth.

He couldn't help but grin. "I'll bet you do."

"Can you blame me?" she asked, staring down into her bowl.

"Not really. But I do plan to disappoint you."

"Damn," she said, without a hint of disappointment. "I was really holding out for that."

Jim laughed again. She was grinning too, and when she looked up again from her lunch they made eye contact for a few short seconds. Suddenly a shadow loomed above, and both looked up.

"C'mon cabin boy. Eat faster an' get goin'. Yeh've got work," said Silver. Nick rolled her eyes and took another languid bite of stew. Morph darted down from above and dove into her bowl, slurping up the remaining contents.

"Hey! Morph! That was mine!"

Silver laughed and Jim bit his lip in an effort not to join him. "Morph, that's not nice…"

Morph giggled and belched, then lazily slid to Silver's shoulder for a post-lunch nap. Nick just looked slightly miffed, then sighed resignedly.

Jim rose. "Well I have to go talk to the captain," he said, and then added softly "I'll see you later."

Nick smiled faintly. "Bye." Jim flashed the ghost of a grin and walked up the galley stairs with the captain, speaking in hushed tones. Nick sat for another moment, staring into the empty stew bowl.

"I saw dat," said a voice from her left.

She looked up quickly, confused. "What?"

Silver acted as though she hadn't responded. He turned to Morph and grinned. "Seems t' cabin boy _can_ smile… but on'y aroun' Jimbo…" he said in a mock whisper.

"Shut up," said Nick disgustedly. "You never give me reason to smile at you, or I might." She rose from the bench and began gathering discarded mugs and bowls from the now abandoned tables. Ishmael emerged from under the table and sat up, watching her. As per usual, it was down to her and Silver in the galley. Ishmael and Morph didn't count, as the respective shadows.

"But Jimbo does?" asked Silver with a laugh.

"He's nice to me. Try it sometime."

"Uh-huh… well don' let yer guard down jus' cause folks are bein' nice t' yeh."

She looked up at him seriously, though the effect was slightly ruined by her having her arms full of mugs and bowls. "Silver, I haven't let my guard down yet. Everytime something happens, I learn from it. Three times now I've made a mistake—that's three mistakes I'll never make again. I'm not going to let anyone else find out."

Silver looked down at her curiously. It was so strange to him how she reminded him of Jim… the same stubbornness concealing uncertainty…

She rolled her eyes and turned away, taking the dishes to the washbasin. "Why are you reminding me anyway?" she tossed over her shoulder. "Protecting your blackmail?"

"No. Protectin' Jim. He tol' me not to tell—"

"He did what?"

"Tol' me to keep me mouth shut."

"See, there you go. Just gave me a reason to smile. You're good at this!" she said.

Silver smiled faintly and shook his head. "What I was sayin' was tha' 'e tol' me no' t' tell, and I don' plan to 'cause yer both right. I'd on'y end up causin' trouble fer Jim."

She scoffed. "Can't let anything happen to Precious Jim… you _do_ realize he's a grown man, don't you? He can take care of himself."

"Yeah, but righ' now 'e's takin' care o' you too, so someone's gotta help 'im watch 'is back."

She made a face and said nothing, but her expression spoke volumes… and none of them liked Silver very much right then.

"Yeh don' t'ink I'm right?"

"I don't want to."

"Oh, well dat's different."

"Unfortunately," she replied, dumping her armload of dishes into the washbasin with a huge clatter. Morph, Ishmael, and Silver all winced a little. Nick turned and picked up the last few mugs and tossed them into the sink as well, and then reached for the large water pitcher that sat in the middle of the table. Suddenly, Ishmael rose to his feet and quickly went to her side, growling softly. As Silver looked on, she froze in the act of drawing the pitcher back to herself, eyes fixed on the floor by the basin.

"What t' devil? Lad, what's wrong?"

She stared at the ground, lips moving silently.

"Lad?" he asked, concern growing slightly. "Nick…"

"It's a…" she paused and swallowed hard, not looking up from the ground. "It's a- a beetle. A Kematian…"

"It's a bug?"

"Yeah."

"Are you scared, lad?"

Nick stared at the ground for another long moment. Then she set the pitcher down in the sink, turned, and walked past him out of the galley, one hand resting on Ishmael's head as he stayed by her side. "It's just a bug," she said flatly as she passed.

She had gone maybe three steps up the stairs when a shadow fell over her. She glanced up-- Jim was two steps above and towering over her, backlit by the midday sun. "Oh, good! C'mon up. The captain was about to make an announcement. I was coming to get you."

She looked at him blankly for a moment, perplexed. "What?"

"The captain called everyone onto deck. I was coming to get you," he said slowly, as though speaking to a child.

She made a face and looked away. "Why didn't you just blow the whistle?" She was flustered and trying, but failing, to cover for it.

"You hate the whistle," he said, surprised. It was true, and that was part of why he hadn't used it, but had he given it another moment's thought there were certainly answers he would rather have given. "Anyway the captain told me to get you. Not to whistle for you."

"Okay," she conceded. "Whatever. Let's go."

On deck, the captain stood at the helm and looked out onto the crew assembled on deck. The men chattered and there was scattered laughter—the approaching end to the journey had raised spirits noticeably. Captain Trelawney cleared his throat and straightened his already ramrod-straight back. "Men, I have news," he called out in his deep, rough voice. The men fell silent, all eyes on the fo'c'sle. "I don't think many of you were privy to some events last week, but we've gotten word from the Phoenix. They found a pirate ship, left abandoned in space." The men looked about at each other in confusion. "The ship was sitting where the Rogue ought to have been, but the Rogue was nowhere in sight." A babble broke out, the prevailing tone questioning and surprised. Nick felt her stomach drop. _A ship disappeared in the middle of space?_

"Yesterday the Phoenix boarded the ship. There were no pirates, but they found the Rogue's crew. Sadly, her Majesty's navy has lost a hundred and fifty good men." He lifted his hand to remove his hat, and across the crowd men echoed the response. "Before we move along, let us pause a moment in memory of our brothers-in-arms." Nick bowed her head and noted that her predictably unpredictable canine friend had lain down at her feet, and whimpered softly. She shut her eyes, focusing on the captain's words. _A hundred and fifty deaths… dead in the name of an Empire. Dead because they chose to give their lives to service. Dead because they swore to protect our people—people like me. Did they realize the choice they were making?_ She shivered a little. Death was her longtime foe, and its omnipresence in the universe always rattled her. The captain broke through her thoughts again. "The crew of the Rogue has been lost, as well as the ship. Orders have been sent out to keep a weather eye out for a ship matching the build and design of the Rogue. If we can catch those pirates, there'll be hell to pay." A murmur rose, affirming this idea of retribution. Nick looked up and around. The men's faces were hardened with anger and subdued grief. She couldn't help her scanning, and involuntarily looked up to Jim standing next to her. His jaw was set and his face was slightly pale.

"Jim?" she whispered.

"Shh," was his immediate response. She dropped her eyes and felt a burn in her cheeks. It wasn't a time to talk, and she should have known better.

"What's worse," continued Captain Trelawney, "is that the Myamins have caught wind. They're changing the rendezvous point."

"What?" cried Nick, and the majority of the crew.

"They're pulling it back further into their own territory, so that they have more ships at their disposal. Never mind that that strings us out longer with no backup…" the captain was distinctly displeased.

"They're not sending us any escort ships?" called Jim.

"Not that I know of. And they won't give us the rendezvous over the radio. They're sending an envoy to a neutral port, and we have to pick him up."

"What?" was again the general consensus.

"That way the information isn't picked up by the Rogue, wherever it is. Not likely that they'd be able to receive, much less decode the message, but there's no telling the Myamins that. For now I just wanted to warn you that we'll be taking on a representative of the Myamin province, and you are treat him with the respect due a dignitary of his rank. Not that I think anyone will need reminding—I trust my men have gotten their bad manners out of their systems." He eyed the crew, his gaze resting on Nick. She could only assume that was because most of the bad manners had been her own, or at least directed at her. She met his eyes, not in challenge but acceptance. "You are all dismissed. Hawkins, to my office," he commanded.

Jim sighed and looked down. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nick looking up at him. "So what happens now?"

"Now you go back downstairs and we'll talk later. I have to go."

"Talk about what?"

"Whatever it was that was so important you interrupted the captain."

"Oh," she murmured. "That was just—"

"Later," he said, cutting her off and walking away. Her stomach sank a little. _And we were doing so well this morning…_ she thought.

Nick walked back toward the galley, then thought better of it and headed off to finish up the task she'd been at before lunch.

---*---*---*---

"Tomorrow you'll go and pick up their man in port on Rittinor," ordered the captain.

"Just me?"

"Would you like backup? You can take Slopes."

"No, sir, but thank you. I'll go on my own. I was just checking."

"Well good. I know you'll get there and back faster than he will, but I need to keep one of you. Just… make sure the longboat and the envoy get here in one piece."

Jim cracked a grin. "Yes, sir."

"Speaking of which, you'll need to test the longboats this week. Take one out tonight and put it through its paces, and that'll be the one you take tomorrow. The others can wait a bit. Or I'll have Slopes test them. Depending on the condition the one you take comes back in."

"Sir? I sense that you don't trust me to take out a longboat and bring it back in one piece."

"I don't think I do, Hawkins." The captain went to the door and opened it, drawing from his breast pocket a whistle. He blew the standard call for the cabin boy, and then paused. There was the distant sound of thudding boots, which grew steadily louder. Then Nick appeared in the doorframe, oddly dwarfed from Jim's point of view. Seeing her standing next to the captain—an admittedly broad man—almost made him grin. Then he caught a glimpse of her furry black shadow lurking just outside and surrendered to the urge. "Mr. uh… Morgan. Have you completed your chores for the day?"

"Uh, for the most part, sir." Nick was totally confused. When she'd heard the whistle, she'd assumed Jim was calling her. The captain had never whistled before. But Jim was standing in the room, next to the desk, hands clasped behind his back. The captain stood in the doorway with her, whistle in hand. She didn't have to be a genius to deduce which of them had summoned her.

"Very well. I want you to go with Hawkins and run a longboat test."

"Why does he need a babysitter? The princess I understand, but—"

"Because Hawkins has a reputation for taking a longboat out for a test and bringing it back in worse condition than it left. Apparently he didn't understand that a 'test' meant 'of basic function', not 'of its limits'."

A grin pulled at the corner of Nick's mouth, while Jim tried not to blush. "Sir, that's not true anymore. I was young then, and—"

"Of course now you're a much older and wiser man. I understand. So if not for the purpose of keeping an eye on you, take him in order to keep an eye on _him_. He's behaved for the last week, but that probably just means he's been saving it up. A trip with you ought to get any residual mischief out of his system before the envoy gets here." He turned away from Nick a little, and dropped his voice. Jim recognized that this was the serious part of his argument. "Take the boy with you. It won't hurt to have an extra pair of hands in case something does go wrong."

"Yes sir," said Jim, surrendering.

"Yes!" whispered Nick, surreptitiously clenching her fist in victory. The rest of the day off? The captain could have been sending her out for groceries and she would have celebrated. "I'll be right back, she called, turning and racing to the deck and down the corridor to the princess's room. She knocked rapidly, and the door swung open.

"What is it?" asked Mignonette impatiently.

"Can you ask Alanna to watch Ishmael?" she replied, her words running together in her haste.

"What?"

"Alanna likes him. I need her to watch him for me. I can't take him with me."

"You want the crown duchess to watch your dog?" repeated the maid slowly.

"Yes."

"You're crazy!" declared Mignonette. "The princess would never—"

"Send him in," called Alanna from somewhere vaguely behind Mignonette. "I'd love to watch him."

"What?!?"

"Thank you!" cried Nick. She pushed past the maid and trailed her canine shadow. "He shouldn't be any trouble, I just can't take him in the longboat and I know you like him and he likes you, so I thought—"

"The longboat?"

"Jim has to take one of the longboats for a test run, and the captain's making him take me along," said Nick in a rush.

"Have fun," said Alanna with a sly smile.

"I will! Thanks again!" Nick knelt quickly and petted the dog's head. "Stay here, okay? Stay with Alanna. I'll be back around dinner."

The dog looked sad, but clearly considered Alanna a suitable Nick-substitute as he wandered over to her and offered his head for a pat. Nick stood and quickly raced down the hall again. "Bye!!"

Alanna smiled down at the dog. "This should be interesting, eh?"

---*---*---*---

Two minutes later she was in the cavernous belly of the ship, hurriedly untying the ropes mooring the longboat to the docking platform.

Jim saw her enthusiasm and tried to head her off. "This isn't going to be a joyride, you know. This is still work."

"But it's not the kind that requires manual labor. And I never said I thought it was going to be a joyride!"

"But you still thought it, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I never _said_ I thought it. So you assumed I thought it."

"But I assumed right. Doesn't that count?"

"Not in the least." Nick tossed the rope to the side and straightened quickly. "Now what?"

"Now you go pull that lever and open the hatch. There's a mechanism that will lower the boat."

She glanced over. "Easy enough," she shrugged. Famous last words. The lever was heavy, to avoid accidentally opening the hatch at an inopportune time. Nick was a small girl. Jim should have been able to do the math, but he overestimated her strength. Nick went over and pulled, and to no one's surprise but her own, the lever didn't budge. She tugged, leaning back to add her weight into the equation. No movement. She hauled herself up, locking her arms and pushing down with all her weight. The lever groaned and shifted a little. Jim looked up from his task and saw her hanging on to the lever, and laughed loudly.

"What are you doing?"

"Pulling the damn lever, thanks very much. Shut up and quit laughing."

"Need some help?"

"No! Do _not_ help. Do not _touch_. I've got it."

"Looks more like it's got you."

"I'm fine."

"Suit yourself."

"I will, thanks," she said curtly, and continued to try to outweigh the lever. After about thirty seconds, Jim had used up his patience. They needed that hatch open sometime today_._ He walked over and pulled on the lever without visible effort, causing her to land on her rump at his feet. The hatch groaned open and Nick stared at him in indignant anger.

"I _said_ no helping!"

"That wasn't helping! That was _doing_!"

"Still! I had it under control!"

"You were _hanging on it_!"

She got up quickly, folding her arms and glaring at him. "I didn't need help."

"It wasn't help. It was… fixing."

"You mean _help_."

"No… shut up and get in. The boat is going to— " he stopped midsentence as it lurched out of its dock and slowly swung out over the now-open hatch.

"Going to what?!?" she cried.

"Going to _move_! Get in before it drops!"

"What?"

"Get! In!"

"Damn it, Jim!" she looked out at the boat, then back at him, and took a running leap. She landed awkwardly, windmilling her arms for balance, and looked up at him fiercely. "Happy now?"

"Thrilled," he replied flatly, taking care of the last few mooring lines before jumping in to join her, landing quite gracefully by comparison. He sat quickly to the right of the console and pressed what seemed like every visible button, and a few that were less than visible, in a rapid and indecipherable succession. "You might want to sit."

"What?" she asked, sounding slow even to her own ears.

"Sit," he said, favoring the single-word repetition yet again. Tearing his eyes from the console, he gave her an expectant look. She didn't respond quickly enough, and when the sudden drop came as the pilot lines disengaged, she found herself sprawled on her rear for the second time in as many minutes.

"Comfortable?" he asked smugly. She did not deign to respond, pretending she couldn't hear him over the thrusters. He took the controls and after a seemingly impossible series of shifts and more buttons came the shrill hum of the engine. She started to shift herself—sprawled on the floor of a longboat was not a comfortable position to remain in for extended periods of time. "No, don't get up," he said, "you'd only end up right back down there."

Nick made a face and tried to reposition herself so as to maintain a semblance of dignity. She didn't bother lifting herself onto the bench seat, but turned to face forward to avoid further mockery. The hum rose to a bit of a roar, and she could feel Jim's tension and excitement radiating. "Hang on," he cautioned. She turned to glance at him and saw the smile—not just any smile. It was the most contagious expression of pure joy she had ever seen. When she turned back around, she unknowingly wore a similar grin.

There were clicks and whirrs, a few clunks, and then a bang as the boat took off at full speed. The wind rushed past, howling in her ears and snatching at her shirt. She glanced back again—the Galaxy was shrinking rapidly into the distance. Her own grin spread and she laughed out loud; a wholly happy sound, and her first uninhibited moment since getting on the ship.

After a few minutes of full-throttle racing Jim pressed the release on the solar sail and they slowed, and he began furiously pressing buttons again. Nick climbed up on the seat and peered at the console, looking closely as the holographic screen projected data and radar, and lots of stuff she had no idea how to read. She slipped back to sit against the stem of the boat, watching as Jim shuffled through the various 'pages' and sorted out the information.

"What's that say?" she asked quietly. Jim jumped a little.

"It—it's all the information the boat's scanners are picking up. These longboats are way more advanced than what you'll find on a normal ship. I learned to fly in a longboat that had no scanners—just basic programming. This thing is sweet…"

"What kind of information?"

"Basically everything you could need to know." He touched the corner of the hologram and swung it around so she could see too. "Here's the solar wind pattern around us right now," he touched another part of the hologram, and the image changed instantly, "here's the gravitational pull from various planets, ships, and our own boat," he changed the image again, "here's the stats—fuel, solar intake, engine levels, here's the radar, here's the autopilot… this boat's totally decked out."

"Autopilot? Where's the fun in that?"

"These are specially-designed longboats. The Galaxy was specially outfitted for transporting royalty, and the longboats are rigged up with autopilot so that if Alanna ever needs to escape, the autopilot hooks into the radar and takes her to the nearest port, ship, or planet, whichever the pilot specifies. So even if she winds up in one alone, all she has to do is hit this button—" he singled out one of the buttons on the console, the only green one— " and the screen will bring up the radar map. She picks one destination on the radar, and the boat takes her there as fast as it safely can."

"That's ridiculous," said Nick, trying to disguise the awe in her voice.

"I know," he laughed. "It's so _cool_…"

Nick laughed with him, enjoying his enthusiasm. "Having fun with your toy?"

He quickly grew serious. "No. It's not a toy. Not a joyride, remember?"

"Sure felt like one to me."

"It's not."

Nick sighed heavily, getting frustrated. "Why not?"

"Orders," was the curt reply.

"Can't you just hang orders for once? Clearly you've done it in the past!"

He glanced over at her, giving her a _look_. "I can't afford to act like a cadet. I'm trying to get to captain."

"Yeah… okay, let's just talk about that for a second. Why would a kid who likes to take longboats out joyriding and winds up trashing them want to confine himself to being a straight-laced captain?"

"I never trashed a longboat. Let's at least get that clear."

"What _did_ you do? The captain said you wrecked 'em!"

"I just… pushed them a little too hard. The thrusters have a maximum speed, but they apparently don't like reaching it."

Nick was terribly excited by that. "Can we try this one?!?"

"No! I can't afford that on my record!"

"Ji-im!"

"Wha-at?" he mimicked.

"You're not the kid you used to be, are you?"

"No one ever is. It's called growing up."

"I'm aware of the concept. But only a select few of us actually get to leave our whole selves behind."

"You're saying you get to be one, and I don't? Who are you to decide that?"

"I'm the one who left something _bad_ behind."

"So did I."

"What was that?"

"A kid who hated everyone for no reason."

"But a kid who knew how to take a joyride," she pointed out, trying to find the upside.

"If your idea of a joyride included getting picked up by robocops, then yeah."

"You got picked up?" she asked, somewhat shocked.

"All the time," he admitted. "I was not a good kid."

She sighed. "If you don't want to share, you don't have to, you know. It's not like you owe me any answers."

"I kind of do—I dragged them out of you, didn't I?"

"Yeah… but still." There was a long pause. The conversation had just taken several convoluted turns, and neither was quite sure what had happened. "Sorry about that, by the way."

"About what?"

"Forcing you to tell. I don't like how it feels to have to share something you'd rather forget."

She smiled lightly, less in humor than as a gesture of goodwill. "I don't forget," she said mysteriously, "but I did value my secrets. I didn't want anyone to find out about me at all. I wanted to fade into the background and be forgotten." She laughed ruefully, "I messed that plan up right at the start. But now… I dunno. I feel like if this all goes to hell in a handbasket, at least you'll know why I did it. I still don't want the rest of them to see me—they wouldn't understand. But in the end, I guess… I just want you to know who I am."

Jim felt a strange weight settle on him. There was another long, slightly awkward silence, and then he cleared his throat. She wasn't urging him anymore, she wasn't nagging. She had surrendered. And for some reason, now he felt… not obligated, but properly inspired. If she asked for it, it wouldn't be as much of a surprise. "Ready for this?"

"For what?" she asked, perking up slightly.

He grinned mischievously at her, grabbed the gear shaft, and threw open the throttle. They had been racing before, but that was on a straightaway. There was no need to keep to one plane when you were loose in space. The boat rocketed forward a ways, then he pulled the steering lever back sharply and it went into a steep climb. Nick yelped and fell backward, grabbing at the console for an anchor. Jim glanced over sideways and couldn't help but laugh at her reaction—her eyes were wide with apprehension, but even as she opened her mouth to shout at him she couldn't keep the corners from turning up just a little.

"What are you doing?!?" she screamed.

"Joyriding!" he yelled back.

"Isn't there a ceiling on this thing?!?"

"Nope! We can go up forever!"

There was a brief moment of silence… or at least, in the conversation. The engine was still roaring behind them, and the wind was whipping past almost abrasively. Suddenly, the boat leveled out, seeming to hang frozen in the air for a few seconds. "Let me guess," said Nick with a calm she did not feel, having reached a conclusion that did not particularly please her, "the same rule applies to going do—"

Jim shoved the steering lever down and the boat dove into the abyss. Nick's thought trailed off into a surprisingly high-pitched scream, and she scrabbled for a handhold when her backside left the bench. He dropped the steering lever and reached over to snatch her right elbow, pulling her back down into her seat and checking her face to be sure she wasn't panicked. That had startled him too—he'd forgotten that the drop would be stronger for her, given her slight weight… he cautiously let go of her elbow and hoped she'd stay put. He smiled again when her little hand shot out and snagged his wrist as he pulled away from her. Even as she grew accustomed to the sensation of falling she didn't release his arm—she didn't want to risk being tossed overboard by any other sudden maneuvers. But the smile returned to her face gradually and she closed her eyes, feeling the wind whip through her hair and sear her skin. Her scream became a whoop of joy, and she soaked in the freedom of flight.

Jim pulled up slightly on the levers, lessening the grade of the drop, and threw the boat into a barrel roll as they leveled out once more. Nick yelped, a discordant sound of elation and fear, and pulled on his wrist to keep herself in the boat. "Nick," he said gently, but loudly enough to be heard.

"What?" she asked breathlessly when they were right-side-up again.

"I need that hand."

She looked at him oddly; then glanced down. Her right hand was tightly clasped around his left wrist. She turned pink and let go hurriedly, clearing her throat a bit. "That was… cool."

"I'm glad you liked it. I thought you might have been scared for a minute there," he teased her, grinning as he dug around for the clipboard checklist he'd need to run the tests.

Nick made a face at him, lifting her chin defiantly. "I'm never scared. That was just… surprising."

"Never scared? What about snakes, or spiders... or um... what else are girls scared of? Bugs, and the dark, and thunderstorms..."

She gave him a little glare. "Those're awful generalizations. I'm not scared of the dark. Or thunderstorms for that matter. I actually love thunderstorms," she said with a grin. "Snakes and bugs don't bother me." She paused for a moment, recalling the close encounter in the galley. "Just _a_ bug… beetles…"

"Beetles?" he asked, surprised. "Really?"

"Just a certain kind… Kematians. Can't stand them. There were a ton of 'em in my room… they'd crawl in the bed sometimes…" she shuddered a tiny bit. "But I'm not scared of your driving, that's for sure."

"So death and beetles… but not me?"

"Pretty much. Is your ego bruised?"

"Slightly, but I'll survive."

She laughed. "Sorry."

Jim grinned and looked away. For a split second after he'd asked _"Death and beetles, but not me?"_ he'd started to correct himself. He'd meant to ask about his driving. She'd said his driving, he'd meant to say his driving… but he'd said 'me'. And she'd answered without skipping a beat.

Nick watched him for a second after he looked away. She'd heard his question, right on the heels of the reference to his driving… and hadn't realized she was answering both questions. No, she wasn't afraid of his driving, nor was she afraid of him. It hadn't really occurred to her to be afraid of him. "Why would I be afraid of you?" she asked.

"That's not really what I meant to ask…"

"Well the answer's no either way… but I was never scared of you."

"I'm not scary."

"You're imposing, does that count?"

"Imposing? That's not quite scary. It sounds kind of… pompous…"

"No! I meant you're a very… commanding figure. I mean, you're Ji—James Hawkins… wait, what's your middle name?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's part of your commanding-ness. What is it?"

"Pleiades."

"Really?!?"

"Don't laugh."

"Wasn't gonna. Not like I'd have any right to… mine's worse."

"What is it?"

She glared at him, but only half-heartedly. "Annemarie," she mumbled.

Jim cracked a grin. "That's very pretty…"

"Shut up. Anyway," she said, resuming her explanation. "You're _James Pleiades Hawkins, _First Mate of the R.L.S. Galaxy and soon-to-be captain of Her Majesty's Navy. Not to mention you're six feet tall and not exactly scrawny…"

He blushed and the grin faded. "The Academy'll do that to you."

She laughed happily. "I bet! Well it works for your whole commanding-presence thing. I didn't think you very friendly when we first met."

"But you were definitely not scared. You were back-talking me from the start."

"No… it takes a bit more to scare me. I back-talked the innkeeper too."

He shook his head, impressed despite himself. "What makes you do that?"

She made a face at him. "I just do. I dunno… most of the time I don't even realize I'm doing it."

He made a face right back at her. "Well you should. It either ticks people off, or gets you beat up. It might be a really good idea to cut it out."

"You know I wouldn't be able to do that. They'll think I'm a pushover or something."

"Or they might just talk to you civilly for once. You never know—might make some friends, Empress forbid."

"No, I don't think Alanna would forbid it."

"She's not Empress yet. And you're dodging the question."

"There was no question to dodge."

"The question was whether you could be polite enough to make some friends."

"That's not a question! A question is 'what's your favorite food?' or something like that."

"Are you saying that because you'd rather answer _that_ question?"

"Is that a trick question?"

Jim sat back against the side of the boat and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Are you intentionally being difficult?"

"No…" came the quiet response. "I was just trying to point out that a question like "What's your favorite color?" has an answer, but I don't have an answer for the being-civil question."

"Fine. What's your favorite color?"

"What?"

"Wouldn't you rather answer that one?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"I… guess. I don't have a favorite color."

"Red," he said succinctly.

"Is that your favorite?"

"No, mine's blue. Yours is red."

She half-smiled, looking at him curiously. "How d'you know that?"

"You're just a red kinda girl. Strong.._._ can I say feisty? Or will you hit me?"

Happy laughter rang out beside him. "I won't hit you…"

"Good. It wouldn't be fair 'cause I can't hit back. It'd be a one-sided battle."

She grinned smugly. "You couldn't? Or you wouldn't? 'Cause I can tell you for sure that men can hit women."

Jim frowned at that. "I would never," he said, his disgust for men like that dripping from his words.

Nick's smile faded into a thoughtful expression. She'd expected that response, but not the emotion behind them. It surprised her that she had absolutely no doubt that he'd meant what he said, with every ounce of the ferocity with which he'd said it. That was a little… intimidating? Maybe. That wasn't quite the word for it. More like… impressive? That wasn't quite it either. She'd have to think on it later.

"Do _you_ have any friends?" she asked abruptly.

"That is not the direction I expected this to take," he said, taken aback.

"Well, you seemed all gung-ho to force me to make friends, and you were shocked when I said I didn't have any—remember that? Back at the inn?"

"Yeah, I remember. I don't think I've ever known anyone with absolutely _zero_ friends."

"Well I thought that meant that you had tons of 'em. More than you'd know what to do with. But you don't ever talk about anyone you know. You don't seem to have any friends either."

The frown he'd worn earlier returned, and then settled into a sad resignation as he once again returned his attention to the task of running the longboat's computer through a complicated set of schematics. "I have friends. Or _had_ friends. I don't know where they are, or if they're even alive."

She looked at him crookedly again, confused. "Don't you write to them? Isn't that what people do when they're apart?"

"I don't know where they are," he repeated. "Most of them are at war. The ones that are still living, anyway."

There was a moment's pause. "Who died?" she asked softly.

"Eddie. Edmund Bailey."

"Best friend?"

"One of 'em. He was on the Hallicroft."

Nick's eyes grew wide. "I heard about that!"

"Yeah…" he sighed. "It was annihilated. No one made it."

She bit her lip. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," he said. "Eddie was a good kid."

"Have you lost a lot of friends?" she asked cautiously.

"Fewer than some, but more than I'd like to remember. Eddie was the first." He bent his head to the clipboard, writing the results that were displayed on the screen. For a split second in his mind's eye, he was back in his mechanics lab, leaning over the latest whirligig that he and Eddie had constructed in place of whatever they were supposed to be building, and testing to figure out what it actually did. On the rare occasion that they actually created anything interesting, it would typically end up in someone's desk, or bed, or their locker in the showers. Jim set his jaw slightly and forcibly brought himself back to the present. "One last test and we're heading back," he said to change the subject.

His transparent evasion was not lost on Nick, who glanced over at him and mentally shrugged. "Okay," she said easily.

He punched a few more buttons on the console and the screen blinked to radar, showing a rather broad scope of the surrounding area… most of which was covered by a large dark mass. "What's that?" asked Nick, pointing to the shadowy shape.

"That's… that's a storm. A _huge_ storm," he said nervously. "I didn't think that was coming our way. It was supposed to head south of us… apparently it shifted direction. They both looked up and peered into the distance, where the outline of the gigantic solar cloud could barely be seen. "We're gonna skip the last test. I need to let the captain know about this…" he glanced over at her. "Do you want to drive back?" he asked teasingly.

She quirked one eyebrow at him, leaning over and pressing the large green button. "Will that work?" she asked with a grin.

Jim leaned in to look at the screen. Something had caught his eye… at the top of the screen was a blinking word.

_Destination?_

Jim looked at the map. There were two highlighted spots that the computer wanted them to choose from. One was behind them—clearly the Galaxy, from its sheer size—and the other was in front, buried just within the border of the storm cloud looming ahead. "No…" he said. "I don't think it's going to…"


	14. Chapter 12: A WEATHER EYE Part 2

_**A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Reviews are always appreciated! I can't get better without your input! 3 God bless! **_

_**Disclaimer: I own Nick Morgan, the R.L.S. Galaxy, the R.L.S. Rogue, the R.L.S. Phoenix, Princess Alanna, Ishmael, Capt. Trelawney, and the R.L.S. Helios. Anything that you recognize from the film belongs to Disney, and anything you're not quite sure about… just figure it's mine. ;)**_

_Jim leaned in to look at the screen. Something had caught his eye… at the top of the screen was a blinking word._

Destination?

_Jim looked at the map. There were two highlighted spots that the computer wanted them to choose from. One was behind them—clearly the Galaxy, from its sheer size—and the other was in front, buried just within the border of the storm cloud looming ahead. "No…" he said. "I don't think it's going to…"_

"What's wrong?" she asked, watching his face as he turned the discovery over in his head again and again, trying to make some sense of it.

"See that?" he asked, pointing to (but not touching) the screen where it indicated the second ship. Nick nodded. "That's not supposed to be there. There's not supposed to be any ships in this direction at all, much less in the storm cloud, and even less ones that aren't moving at all. See the Galaxy?" he moved his hand to the lower part of the screen, indentifying their ship. It was moving in little blinking steps, inching closer to the center of the radar screen, where they sat. "It's moving along—slowly, but moving. This one's not. Which it should be, even if it were a pirate ship, a merchant ship… anything. Either that crew got into trouble with the storm—which means it's worse than we expected—or something was wrong with them before the storm got there."

Nick looked intrigued and only mildly concerned by this whole thing… it was terribly exciting to go joyriding, find a rogue ship, and spot a gigantic solar storm, all in one day. "Can we go check it out??" she pleaded.

Jim looked at her oddly. "No! We can't just go barreling into that kind of storm, and pull up alongside an unknown, _unauthorized_ ship!"

"Sure we can! It's not moving! We can outrun it if anything goes wrong!"

"Just 'cause it's not moving doesn't mean it can't!"

"If it could move then it wouldn't be sitting in the storm! Obviously it's been abandoned—it's just a ghost ship!"

Jim opened his mouth to argue—and paused. She had a point… "Fine. We'll head over to the edge of the storm, and see what we can see. If that damn thing sucks us in, I'm blaming you."

"Whatever. You could steer this tugboat through the middle of that storm and back out again."

He flushed faintly and tried to think of a way to answer that. "I might be able to steer it," he said at last, "but that doesn't mean it'll hold up."

Nick shrugged lopsidedly and looked out into space, slightly embarrassed by her profession of confidence in him. Jim noticed but said nothing, and switched the screen on the console so that he could relay a message back to the Galaxy.

_Found something of interest. Will take longer to return. Do not attempt to contact, as messages may be intercepted. Will contact when returning._

When the message was successfully transmitted, he threw open the throttle and headed toward the storm. They sat in silence as they approached the huge purple cloud, the solar winds roiling and whipping through the astral dust. This wasn't like the storm back in port… this one held no rain. It was a dry storm, all wind and dust and lightning encased within. They were common occurrences, but normally much smaller and moving much more predictably. This one was huge and moving quickly, and clearly doing so in unanticipated directions. Nick felt a little tingle run down her spine. This was going to be exciting.

The winds at the edge of the storm pushed out toward them, making the engines work harder to breach the wall of clouds. But within the massive tempest the winds turned in on themselves, swirling and agitating, cyclones forming and dissolving as the gale raged. It was no more severe than the winds at the outskirts, but more contained—the storm battled itself. Suddenly Nick understood the concern in Jim's voice when he realized this storm was heading for the Galaxy. It would certainly do a number on the ship, and probably many of the hands. Somehow this was one situation in which greater size would work against them—the wind might not move the galleon around very much, but it would certainly shred the sails and batter the crew senseless. But in their tiny craft, the wind merely picked them up and moved them where it wished, leaving them aboard and the sail mostly intact. Jim leaned forward intently, trying to steer against the winds and continue moving toward the little spot on the map. It wasn't too far into the storm… it should be around here somewhere… there! Right there behind that cloudbank. Jim and Nick both turned to each other and pointed, in unison. Then they smiled awkwardly and nodded, returning to the physical and verbal silence from before.

He put the longboat into a shallow dive, dropping below the level of the hull of the ship. He was counting on the thick dusty clouds to shield them from view, but it also made it more difficult to see the ship. As far as he could see, there was no one walking along the fo'c'sle, nor on the bow… and if there was anyone in the crow's nest, they were not doing a very good job. There was still the possibility of crewmen on the main deck, but it seemed highly unlikely that they would be on the lookout, nor that they would be able to see much. In fact… he rather doubted that anyone on that ship could see much. There were no lanterns lit, no warm glow seeping out through any of the portholes, and not a flicker of movement anywhere. It occurred to Jim suddenly that the crew might have abandoned the ship in the storm, fleeing via longboat. He suddenly realized that this was seeming more and more like the ghost ship Nick had guessed it to be, and a sense of foreboding grew in the pit of his stomach. He dropped his guard a little, more focused on getting to the ship quickly than avoiding being seen.

Nick glanced over at Jim when the longboat began to pick up speed. His face was drawn and his jaw set hard. She looked down—his knuckles were white. A sudden wash of anxiety swept through her, and her stomach felt like she'd swallowed ice. What she had thought was going to be a fascinating adventure had instantly become more ominous. Her hands were tucked under the backs of her knees, clenching the edge of the bench, and she leaned forward nervously. She began to wish she hadn't insisted they explore the ghost ship. "Do you want to go back?" she asked, shouting over the storm. "We don't have to—"

"Yes we do," he interrupted. "We have to finish this."

"No… we can just give up. We can go back!" she cried. He shook his head and sped up, trying to dissuade them both. Too soon, the longboat drew alongside the ship and Jim engaged the vertical thrusters to bring them up to deck level. A quick look around revealed no signs of life, and the deck was actually surprisingly empty altogether. There were no crates, no barrels, no piles of rope. No signs at all that the ship had ever been inhabited. Jim climbed out of the longboat and onto the ship, turning back to give Nick a sharp look.

"Stay here!" he commanded.

"To hell with that!" she replied, climbing out to stand next to him. He stared at her, trying to decide if he could get away with tossing her back in the longboat, but decided she'd climb back out. Then he mentally berated himself for taking seven whole seconds to realize this, and tried a different tactic.

"Is there any way I can get you to stay here?"

"If you're so scared, why don't _you_ stay, and _I'll_ look around?"

"I'm not scared—there's nothing to be scared of! Look! There's no one here!"

"Then why leave me on the longboat?"

"Sorry, old habit," he replied sarcastically. "I'm supposed to protect the girl. Too bad I got stuck with a stubborn one who won't let me."

"But you said there wasn't anything—"

"There's not! Just… just come on. Stay behind me." He turned and walked across the deck, drawing his pistol as he went and flicking the safety off. He held it at the ready by his shoulder, and motioned to her to follow. She gulped and did as she was told, her heart thundering in her ears and a cold fist clenching her stomach. Nick wasn't prone to panic, but something close to it was surging through her veins and making it difficult to focus.

Jim was reacting mechanically, trying to detach himself from the nerves that jangled in his chest. If he could pull himself out of the equation and pretend this was another drill, he might be able to do this calmly. But the little figure that kept in his shadow was distracting him, because he hadn't done a drill where he'd had to protect a civilian that actually _mattered_ to him… it was all just a drill. And the civilian had been a hologram who fizzled out when he died, not a living, breathing young woman… He couldn't think like that. Instead, he refocused himself on the task at hand. They crossed the deck to the stairs that led down into the hold, where the men would have slept among the extra supplies. Jim put a finger to his lips and motioned for Nick to stay behind him. He put his back to the wall and crept down slowly, scanning the room carefully. But the hammocks were all empty, and there was nothing else in the room. He motioned for Nick to follow, and they searched the room for anything that might indicate why the ship had been abandoned. They found nothing, not a shred of any kind of stock, or any sign that the room had ever been used. After a short while they surrendered and left the hold, wandering down the hall to the engine room, which was eerily silent and dimly lit by the red-tone emergency backup lights.

"If the generator's on," whispered Jim, "the ship's only been powered down for an hour at the most. That's strange…"

"So if they left, it was recently… d'you think the engine conked out on them and they ditched the ship in the storm?"

"No… look here." He pointed to the engine's power grid. There were several intimidating knobs and switches, but even Nick could have run the thing—there was a large lever labeled ON/OFF. She flushed with embarrassment to see that it was clearly switched to OFF.

"So someone shut it down," she said quietly. "Why, though?"

"I don't know. Let's just check the stateroom and the galley, and then get out of here. I have a bad feeling." He turned and abruptly headed for the door.

Nick took one last look around, her eyes falling on an odd-looking clock sitting haphazardly on the corner of the engine block, tucked under some machinery. It appeared that whoever was in charge of the engine room had kept time by his own clock, because it looked quite homemade and ran poorly. She shook her head and followed Jim up.

The captain's stateroom was less eerie than the hold and engine room. It was not entirely evacuated, and still held contraptions and maps and globes and starscopes… if she tried really hard, Nick could pretend that the captain had merely gone down to the galley for some coffee. But the desk drawer hung open and papers were strewn on the floor, handicapping her ability to pretend that he was on his way back. Jim peered into several drawers, and checked the maps that remained, calling out to her which star systems were still present.

"Envorian, Zytablani, Magellenic, Coral… Terra and Myamin are missing."

Nick felt a shiver run up her spine. "But if you're leaving in a hurry, those would be the two you would take, right? I mean, we're smack dab between those two…"

"Yeah… but these are merchants. Their port-of-call list is sitting right here. They just left Rittinor and were heading to Velamoor—that's in Envor, and the map's right here. Don't you think they would have headed there to try to talk their way out of trouble with whoever was expecting the delivery?"

Nick nodded and bit her lip. Something was nagging at the back of her mind, making her pulse elevate every minute that they lingered. Something was not right, but she couldn't put her finger on it. "Let's get out of here, please?" she asked quietly.

Jim left the desk and went back to the door. "One last stop and we're gone. I promise." He led the way back out onto the deck, and went down the steps to the galley with his pistol in two hands, held beside his cheek. Nick followed behind at a small distance, feeling the tension building in her as the bad feeling worsened. Suddenly Jim froze, and the gun dropped to his side as he looked around the galley.

The men had been caught unawares, that much was clear. From the way the bodies were positioned, it appeared that the ship had been taken entirely by surprise, and the ambushed crewmen had been herded into the galley and executed. Bodies lay along the edges of the room, piled atop each other, with blood and gore spattered on the walls. Jim's stomach churned as he surveyed the room, unable to tear his eyes away from the massacre.

"Wh…what…" breathed Nick behind him. He spun around to face her, and saw her two steps above him, eyes wide and one hand pressed to her mouth. She looked like she was going to cry or throw up… or both. He went up one step and blocked her view with his shoulder, putting his hands on her upper arms. Nick blinked once, then looked up at him for a second before dropping her eyes to the floor. She leaned into him slightly, and he feared for a moment that she was going to faint. But she steadied, and he gently turned her around and nudged her up the stairs.

"We have to go," he rasped. She nodded and took the stairs slowly, walking as though in a trance. "I'll be right up." He watched her go, waiting until she was on deck to enter the galley. He stepped over the wreckage of a broken bench, and tried not to disturb any of the dead men. As he walked, he spotted the sad creature that must have been the captain, dead alongside his men. When he reached the middle of the room he paused, trying to hear past the thundering of his heart… he thought he'd heard it before in the engine room, but he'd dismissed it as a faulty mechanism. Now he was hearing it again in the galley…

There! There it was… a clicking sound. He shut his eyes and zeroed in on it, turning toward the source. He took a step forward, and another, and followed the sound as it got fractionally louder. When he reached the stove, he peered into the huge cooking pot sitting on the burner. It was empty, save for a little mechanical device no bigger than the palm of his hand, which looked at first glance to be a sorry excuse for a clock. But the hands were moving backwards…

Adrenaline surged through him as he pivoted on the spot and raced back through the galley, hurdling the broken bench and taking the stairs two at a time. He nearly collided with Nick, grabbing her hand and dragging her along with him as he raced across the deck.

"Jim! What are you—"

"_Hurry!_" he shouted. He reached the side of the ship and swung her around in front of him, picking her up at the waist and depositing her in the longboat. Then he followed, jumping in beside her and jamming the accelerator lever down as far as it would go. They took off as fast as the longboat could manage, but the engine had grown cold sitting there, and he couldn't get it to shift into the next gear…

Behind them, the R.L.S. Helios exploded in a fiery cloud, raining burning wood, shards of glass, and sailcloth scraps down on the longboat as it shot through the dark sky.

---*---*---*---

Nick trudged back up from the longboat hold and retrieved Ishmael and the tiny bathtub from Alanna, thanking her briefly and stowing them in her room before finding her way to the kitchens. Without a word to Silver, she filled two buckets with hot water and walked back up to her room. Then she locked the door and took a bath, scrubbing hard to rid herself of the grime and the memory. To her dismay only one was solved with the bath, and even that was painful—there were tiny scratches all over her arms and torso and every inch of her skin hurt, along with a sharp pain in her skull from a piece of debris cracking her over the head during the explosion. It had started bleeding while she washed her hair, but thankfully was no longer doing so. She stowed her clothes in her knapsack, wondering if she'd ever be able to wear them again—the shirt was almost black from the explosion, and there was a splash of blood on the pants that she knew wasn't hers. She pulled out her last good set, the ones Alanna had given her to replace the ink-stained ones. She dried and dressed and lugged the water out to the deck to be dumped, and then went back to the room. When she entered Ishmael was lying in his usual spot under her hammock, his tail thumping the ground. He sat up and looked at her with a crooked doggy grin, which she rewarded with a sad half-smile. She crawled under the hammock and sat beside him with her back against the wall, scratching behind his ears. Then she rocked forward and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his fur. She had no idea how long she sat there like that, with her eyes shut tight, her head throbbing slightly, and the images of the murdered men flooding her mind. '_I should never have told him to go… I should never have argued… if we had turned around like he said, we wouldn't have found those men, and we wouldn't have almost died, and…'_

Her thoughts were interrupted by the door opening and closing, and the sound of boots shuffling in. She didn't lift her head, but she did open her eyes a little, and loosen her grip around Ishmael. Jim was back from briefing the captain on their spontaneous reconnaissance mission, and she didn't want to know how that had gone.

"Can you sew?" asked a voice from above, cutting into her thoughts.

Nick raised her head and looked up at him in surprise. He was sitting on the bed facing her, still wearing the shirt from earlier that day… but his hair was damp. He must have showered down in the hold after his meeting. "Yeah… why?"

"Good." He peeled off his shirt and she saw that it was pockmarked with burns and little snags. She hoped he didn't want her to fix the whole thing. Then she noticed that his bare chest was covered in little bruises and burns… and that he was bare-chested… He laid the shirt on the bed beside him and tossed her a little white box just larger than her two hands—the sewing kit, she assumed. She crawled out from under the hammock and stood, walking toward the bed to retrieve the shirt. "The doctor is too busy taking care of Slopes—the idiot got his finger shut in a door." Jim rolled his eyes and turned to the left, pulling his leg up onto the bed bent at the knee. In turning, he presented her with his right upper arm, with a strip of fabric tied around it that was slowly turning crimson as the blood soaked through it. Nick took an involuntary step back.

"Oh-ho-ho no… I didn't say I would sew _you_!"

"Well either you do it or I do it myself, and I'm not left-handed!" he said shortly, trying not to bark at her. She set her jaw and took another step forward, prodding the bandage gently with her finger. Then she delicately untied the knot in the grubby rag, glad for once that her hands were small. It was much less difficult to be gentle. She took his elbow and he held his arm out away from his body as she unwrapped the cloth… and she certainly didn't take note of the fact that the same amount of cloth would have wrapped her own bicep twice as many times. When she was done, she pushed his am back down and wiped a little more blood from the wound.

"I don't think I should do this," she warned him, opening the white medical kit and pulling out a little bottle of cleanser, then set the box on the bed beside him. Her head was still pounding from earlier, and she began to wonder if there might be a bump. She poured some of the cleanser into her hands, rubbing them together to clean them, then poured a bit more of it onto a bit of gauze and swabbed the cut.

He inhaled through his nose and his arm twitched a fraction. "That _stings!_"

"You had to know it was going to. This is one of those it-gets-worse-before-it-gets-better things," she replied evenly, pushing out of her mind the fact that his arm—his _bicep_—felt like a rock under her fingertips, even through the gauze. She felt a little flush of warmth spread over her face, and she hoped against all hope that her face was not turning red. "What hit you?" she asked to distract herself, "Was this wood, or glass, or metal…?"

"Glass, I think. It's a pretty clean slice…" he said. Nick leaned in closer to inspect the cut for shards of glass or splinters. He turned his head to see what she was doing and felt his chest grow a little tighter as he realized how close she was. Her face was inches away… he could see every freckle across her nose and cheeks, and he could smell the soap from her hair. He watched her face as she frowned at the cut, ignoring the sharp twinges from her poking at it. He hadn't noticed before that her eyes were a deep navy blue, and that her eyelashes were so dark… he turned away quickly, suddenly realizing that he was not supposed to be looking at her like that.

Nick caught the flash of motion out of the corner of her eye. She glanced up, and saw him looking away. "Sorry… did that hurt?" she asked quietly.

"No… it's fine. Keep going." Nick inwardly scolded herself for asking a stupid question—had she honestly expected him to admit pain? He hadn't complained yet, and even his flinching when she cleaned the cut had been mild. She straightened up and wiped at the cut again with the clean gauze, then leaned over the medical kit to find a needle and thread.

"What are you doing?" asked Jim, turning to look. Unfortunately he lifted his arm to avoid hitting her on the head, and turned as she was straightening up again. She smacked the top of her head on his elbow, a few inches behind her hairline, narrowly missing her temple. He jumped back with surprise and Nick made indeterminate sound… either pain or frustration. "I'm sorry!" he said quickly… and rather loudly.

"Shh! Shh it's fine!" she hissed, her eyes closed tightly and her face scrunched up. He'd managed to conk her almost directly on the bump from the explosion. Pain shot through her head immediately, then slowly began to fade again. "It's alright, I'm fine," she said quietly. When she opened her eyes again, she saw him looking at her closely with concern. She stood up the rest of the way and took a step back. "I'm fine," she repeated, "now give me that arm."

He obliged, turning back around and looking down. Nick quickly threaded the needle and swabbed the cut once again, this time with an anesthetic. She held the edges of the slice together with her left hand, and bent down a little to look closer at it before starting to sew it closed.

Jim set his jaw as the needle pushed through the skin. She was being gentle, but there was only so much she could do. After a moment he decided that he was likely to break his jaw if he kept up with that, so instead he began to talk. "I'm sorry about today," he said quietly.

Nick paused in the act of pulling the thread through. "What are you talking about? None of that was your fault! I was the one who insisted we go look around… I made you do it."

"No, you didn't. And it's a good thing we did look around—even the captain said so. He's convinced that was another hit by the pirates who took the Rogue." One stitch finished… "But the ship was too small to trade off, so they cleaned it out and kept going." Two finished… "The fact that they rigged it to explode was a sign that they're paying attention to what the Navy is up to, and they know we found the Rogue." Three… "This was their attempt to cover their tracks. If we'd waited for backup like I said, we would have still been on the ship when it exploded." Nick finished the last stitch and pulled the thread tight. "You made the right call… even if it was an accident. Ow!" he said suddenly, jerking his arm away a little and turning away from her.

Nick jumped when he did, startled by his reaction. "Stop it!" she hissed. "You'll rip the stitches!" She dropped the needle, grabbed his elbow with her left hand, and shoved on the front of his right shoulder with her free hand to keep him from moving too far. He obeyed, and stopped abruptly, but Nick was already in motion. She stopped when she hit his shoulder with her collarbone, and her eyes suddenly grew wide as her face flushed red. Her heart thundered in her ears as she looked at him, her face only inches from his. Every bit of her mind screamed for her to move, to back up, to step away, but she couldn't react… other than to notice that his chest was under her hand… and it was still a very bare chest…

Jim tensed when he felt her hit, and turned his head to look at her. That was his big mistake. Suddenly she was right there, filling his vision, and he wasn't sure if he was going to throw her backwards in a panic, or pull her even closer… though even as the thought crossed his mind he knew he couldn't possibly do that. Even when she was right there, pressed into his shoulder like that, and he was pretty certain he could _feel_ her heart pounding in her chest… when he could smell not only her soap, but the scent of her skin underneath it… when he found his eyes drawn down from hers, down along the line of her nose to the mouth just below it, lips slightly parted in surprise.

She watched him closely, her chest growing tight as his eyes searched her face. Every breath that she took filled her nose with the smell of him, making it slightly harder to remember to draw the next one. She studied his face—every line and curve was familiar to her, but somehow seemed different now. She looked up at his eyes… her stomach twisted almost painfully as she realized that he was looking at her mouth with a very clear purpose. She had grown to respect him as her first mate, and to like him as her friend, but he couldn't… they couldn't…

"You're bleeding," he whispered abruptly, cutting into her thoughts. Suddenly he brought his left hand around and lifted her chin slightly, turning her head to the side. Blood dripped slowly down the side of her face, sliding down from a cut hidden somewhere under her dark hair. "Did you get cut?" Surprise and a little horror crept onto his face. "Is that from when I hit you?"

"You didn't _hit_ me," she retorted, jerking her chin out of his grip. Nick pulled her hand back from his chest, the skin separating stickily—her fingers were already bloody from his wound. She swiped at her cheek with the back of her wrist instead, making a bit more mess than she'd intended. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine, you're bleeding," he said wearily, the adrenaline and tension draining out of him quickly. He reached up to brush her hair back and find the source of the blood, but she jumped back, shaking her head.

"No! No… I'm fine. I'll take care of it in a minute. Let me finish the stitches," she said pushing his arm down and turning to look at her handiwork. "Remind me why you couldn't get someone else to do this?" she asked, an edge of irritation creeping into her voice.

"Because Slopes crushed his finger and the doctor was already working on his hand. He told me to wait… but I thought if you could do it then I wouldn't have to wait…" his voice grew less sure as he reached the end of his explanation.

"And Natalya and Mignonette?"

"I was going to ask one of them if you couldn't do it. Are you okay?" Nick had tied off the thread and looked around for scissors.

"Where is Morph when you need him?" she muttered. Jim handed her a pocketknife and she sliced the thread. "I'm fine," she repeated automatically, reaching for a strip of clean cloth to wrap around his arm. When she was done she tied it off and swiped at her cheek again, adding a little more blood to the stain on the back of her hand. "I'm going to go wash up," she announced, turning to walk out.

"Stop," he said. She paused, giving a weary sigh.

"What?"

"Let me see that," he ordered. She turned around and faced him. The trickle of blood had slowed almost to a stop, but the side of her face was smeared with it and it was in her hair too. He rose and walked over, catching her chin in his hand again and inspecting her cheek. He brushed the dark brown hair out of her face, looking for the cut. She tried to jerk her chin out of his grip, but he held firm and turned her to the side, searching further up, above her hairline. When he found the wound, he was surprised to see that there was a significant bump, with a small gash in it. It was not a bad injury, and she clearly wasn't suffering from a concussion or the like, but the cut still needed to be cleaned at the very least. When he lightly touched the area near the bump with his finger, she hissed "That _hurts_!" and tried again to pull free. This time he let her, and took a step back toward the bed to the medical kit.

Nick turned away and tried to make another break for it, but he reached out and snagged her wrist. "Do _not_ try to run. You have to clean that out, or it'll get infected."

She sighed and yanked her hand out of his, getting frustrated. "I just need to wash my hands!"

"You can wash when I'm done! Why are you so mad at me all of a sudden?" he asked as he poured some cleanser onto a bit of gauze.

His question surprised her, and she looked up at him. "I'm not… I'm not mad. I'm just… I'm really tired. And my head hurts. Today sucked."

"Not all of it," he said, turning back to her and pushing her hair out of the way so that he could apply the disinfectant.

"No," she agreed. "But two dead crews and almost getting blown up kind of outweighed the good conversation." Her voice was weary and she stared at the floor, wincing as the cleanser stung the cut.

"Too much death for one day, huh?" he asked softly. "All you need is a beetle to seal the deal."

"There was one in the galley," she confessed.

"Seriously?"

She smiled and nodded faintly. When he let go of her head, Jim took a step back and walked around her to the dresser, pulling out a new shirt and shrugging it on. Nick blushed slightly when she realized again that he had been half-naked the whole time… she pushed that particular train of thoughts from her mind quickly.

"You'd better go wash your face," Jim said, cutting into her thoughts. "And be careful who you let see you like that. They'll think I beat you."

"If you hear applause, you'll know I've been spotted," she said acerbically. "I don't think the crew likes me much."

"We talked about this—they'd like you if you stopped talking back to them. You know that. That's the only thing keeping you from having friends. So just… don't talk."

Nick rolled her eyes and headed out onto the deck, going down into the galley to wash her hands and face. When she came back the lights were down and Jim was in his bunk, staring at the ceiling. She climbed into her hammock and rolled onto her stomach, reaching an arm down to scratch between Ishmael's ears.

There was a stunted goodnight, hindered by their exhaustion, the lingering tension from the day, and a hesitation born of awkwardness. Nick lay awake long after Jim fell into a restless sleep. She couldn't get her mind to shut down. Everything from the day replayed in her head, from lunch until just before they went to bed. She tried not to focus on the men in the ship… but their dead bodies floated to the forefront of her mind every so many minutes. She thought of something—anything—else, desperate to get her mind away from what she knew was going to haunt her for some time. Her thoughts floated to Jim… and suddenly she was thrust into the memory from earlier… that long pause when she had fallen into him… that was just a pause, wasn't it? It wasn't anything more, it didn't mean anything… they hadn't even paused for any _reason_. It was just that they were tired and startled… and there wasn't any reason to keep thinking about it. Even if there _had_ been a reason for the pause—which she refused to admit—it was probably just… um… stress! It was stress. It had been a long day… with lots of emotional turmoil and a certain life-or-death situation which they had barely escaped, much less unscathed… but it was just that. It wasn't anything else. It couldn't be. She held onto that firm belief like a lifeline. There was nothing there but tension and stress, and a difficult day that they had somehow survived together. It had taken her a little while, but she managed to explain it all away.

Nick didn't sleep that night. She lay there, listening to him toss and turn, and stared at the ceiling with wide eyes, forcing the images of the slaughtered crew from her mind. Her eyes closed only a few times, and for only short periods, earning her little rest and no relief from the sinking, twisting feeling in her stomach.


	15. Chapter 13: BUMP IN THE NIGHT Part 1

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: BUMP IN THE NIGHT**

The dawn light came streaming through the slightly dingy porthole, and struck the ground in a long oval that stretched between Jim's bunk and Nick's hammock. Jim was lying awake on his stomach and watching Nick across the room as she played with a length of rope, tying and retying various basic knots that he had taught her weeks ago. He watched for what felt like a long time, too asleep to care that she was doing nothing interesting, and too awake to go back to sleep. His head buzzed with a looming headache and even breathing seemed to require more effort than usual. Eventually the irritating chime on his pocket watch broke the silence, causing Ishmael to raise his head and look over at Jim questioningly, and Nick to roll onto her side away from him. He sat up—which caused his head to pound—and reached for his boots, pulling them on with a sigh. "I know you're awake," he said quietly. "Did you sleep at all?"

Nick rolled back over to face him, her expression mostly neutral. "You talked all night. And you didn't even say anything interesting this time." She wound the rope idly around the palm of her hand.

Jim sighed a little and stood up, shrugging as he walked over to the dresser. "It happens."

Nick laughed—if the combination of a smirk and a short exhale through her nose could qualify as laughter. Jim glanced over as he gathered his clean clothes, and stifled a yawn. "Apparently I'm not the only one who didn't sleep well," chided Nick.

"I slept fine."

"I'm pretty sure you didn't. But if that's your story then by all means, stick to it. What would I know?"

"Just how long have you been awake?" he asked, shaking his head slightly.

"Long enough. Not everyone takes all day to wake up, you know…" she sat up and swung her legs down to the floor, stretching a little before rising. "I guess I should get going. There's a lot to get done today. When are you leaving?"

"Right after breakfast. I have to get all the way to Rittinor and back by sundown."

"I'm sure it'll all work out fine, so long as he is where he says he'll be and the weather holds out, and none of the other thousand and one things that can go wrong _do_ go wrong…"

"Thanks. You're a big help."

She smirked. "I'll see you down there then." She slipped from the room and Ishmael rose to follow, stopping to give Jim a brief good morning sniff before hustling after Nick. Jim finished getting ready and ran a hand through his hair, then made his way out to the deck. He stood for a moment in quietly, somehow attempting to think and not think at the same time. The cool morning air helped his head slightly, and he closed his eyes briefly as he took a deep breath. His mind would not rest—that was why he hadn't slept well—but he had no desire to let his mind dwell on the gruesome events of the day before. He wanted it to just go away. With a sigh and a quick rap of his knuckles on the fo'c'sle rail, he continued on his way to the galley.

---*---*---*---

Nick leaned back against the end of the long table to nurse a cup of coffee. She took a sip and made a face, then went to the sink and dumped half of it down the drain. She watched Morph flit around the galley, chirping and laughing and nicking bits of food here and there as she filled the mug the rest of the way with milk. It was a long, thoughtful moment before she realized that Silver was talking to her. She jumped almost comically and looked up at him, blinking rapidly. "What?"

"I said, t' cap'n was lookin' fer yeh earlier. I dun t'ink yeh're in trouble, or else 'e would've given me an earful 'bout trainin' yeh up right. But 'e was jus' lookin' fer yeh. Wanted t' know when yeh'd be 'round."

"Should I go find him now?" she asked, frowning as she tried to figure out what he could have wanted.

"Naw, 'e'll find yeh when 'e's ready fer yeh. Seemed t' me 'e was jus' tryin' t' get a lock on yeh."

"Oh…" she said with a little confused sigh, pushing away from the table and walking toward the counter, standing there for a moment and tapping her fingers idly on the countertop. "What should I do?"

He laughed lightly. "No. T' cap'n'll need yeh soon enough, and yeh seem like to pass out any time now, so I'll not be usin' t' li'l bit o' awake dat yeh've got."

"I'm not going to pass out," she scowled, picking up a dishrag and throwing it over her shoulder. "I'm fine."

"Yeh say dat no matter what, don'cha?" he asked with a shake of his head.

She turned and faced him, setting her mouth into a firm line. "Yes."

Just then, Jim came down the galley steps and cleared his throat. Silver looked up and smiled a little, tossing him a purp and a biscuit. "Too early fer a real breakfas', Jimbo. Sorry. But I'll keep dinner warm fer yeh."

"That's fine, Silver. I'm not really hungry anyway."

"Well… take a few t'ings wit' yeh. Yeh'll get hungry sometime."

"Fine," he sighed, moving over to the barrel of purps and throwing a few more in his knapsack for lunch, along with some scraps of meat and cheese. Silver began preparing the kitchen for breakfast, bustling about and firing up the huge stove. Nick turned to lean back against the counter and watched them disinterestedly, her attention straying to thoughts she would rather have been able to let go. She wondered if their course had changed in an effort to escape the storm, and decided to mention it to the captain. She wondered if she should also ask if he had passed along word of the Helios… and whether that word was being passed along even further. Then it occurred to her that there might not be much being done to get the news to their families… would they ever know what had happened to their fathers and husbands, brothers and sons? Did records even exist so that anything _could_ be done to find those families? What if those men had just vanished, never to be seen or heard from again, and no news of their deaths would ever make it back to their families, leaving them with unanswered questions for years and years…

Suddenly there was a hand on her elbow. "Nick?" he said, the tone suggesting that he had said her name several times already. She glanced up quickly, startled out of her thoughts. "I'm going to go now," said Jim quietly. "Are you okay?"

She shook her head lightly and blinked a few times. "I'm fine. Just… thinking deep thoughts," she said with a smirk.

He frowned a little, looking hard at her face. "Take a nap or something," he said eventually, releasing her elbow. "You look like hell."

She laughed and shrugged. "It happens," she rejoined, rising to get herself a another mug of coffee-milk. "And there's no napping on this ship. Not for me at least."

"Well… try. You need it."

She shook her head again, this time in denial, and Jim sighed and walked away. "See you at dinner, guys. Don't have too much fun without me."

"We won'" Silver reassured him, eyeing the distracted girl carefully. Morph flew out of somewhere—Nick didn't quite catch where—and gave Jim a goodbye nuzzle and a slightly dismayed chirp. When Jim had gone, Nick walked over to the barrel of purps and picked one out, tossing it between her hands for a moment. Silver watched her and frowned when she held the purp for a moment, staring at it in thought, then tossed it back in the barrel. It seemed that she wasn't going to be nagging for her breakfast. Then she glanced up and caught his stare, sighing and folding her arms across her chest.

"Isn't there something I can do? Any chores at all?" She was feeling more awake now, and ready to get her mind off things for a while.

"Wha's t'matter wit' yeh? Normally I hafta git on yer case fer an hour or more t'git yeh t' do extra chores… t' crew'll be up and abou' soon enough, an' yeh'll have plenny t' do then. Jes' sit still awhile and relax while yeh can." He was growing suspicious… she was clearly sleepy (she _had_ gotten up about an hour earlier than usual) and she was antsy-- moving too much, and her motions were heavy. As far as he was concerned, asking for more work was entirely ridiculous. "Go on, git outta here. Talk t' deh cap'n or somet'in'. I got nuttin' fer yeh t' do."

She sighed and made her way up onto the deck, dragging her feet the whole way. He was right—there were only a few deckhands about, and they were going about their watch. She could see one blurry shape up in the crow's nest, another on the fo'c'sle, and a third at the wheel, all moving lazily around the deck in the growing morning light. She turned to the starboard side and looked out over the ramparts, and saw the small dark shape of the longboat fading into the sky. Her nerves rang a little as she wondered if he was flashing back to their last longboat trip as often as she was… when she thought about him being out there on his own with no defenses, and the potential to encounter the same ruthless pirates that had slaughtered the Helios's crew, her stomach began to churn. She fought it off, and tried to maintain control of her train of thought in order to avoid thoughts of the murdered crew… but the images crept into her brain despite her efforts and she found herself leaning against the rail and reliving the nightmare on the Helios.

Suddenly someone cleared their throat behind her, and she snapped back to the present, turning quickly to find herself face-to-face with the captain. "Mr. Morgan? May I speak to you in my stateroom for a moment?"

Nick took a moment to process his request, trying to think of what she might have done in the last day or so to get in trouble and when nothing came to mind she agreed out of pure curiosity. He led the way back to the stateroom and locked the door behind them, gesturing for her to sit before taking his place behind the desk. She eyed up the room, making note of the large windows behind him and the weapons chest beside the door… and the little door on the wall adjacent to the main door, which she filed away to ask him about later. There was a spare chair against the wall and a small chest of drawers, and her eye was caught by the way the grayish light was filtering in through the floor-to-ceiling windows and hitting the dust motes in the air…

"Mr. Morgan?"

Her eyes flew back to his face and she blinked twice as she recalibrated. "Nick," she corrected quietly. "Just call me Nick, please."

He frowned slightly and cleared his throat. "I'll try to remember that." His gaze dropped back to the desk and he reached out to shift some papers with his hand. Nick realized that he felt awkward about all of this. He cleared his throat once more, then looked up and met her eyes steadily. She found herself wanting to look away again as it occurred to her why he was nervous—and what he wanted to talk to her about.

"Last night, as I'm sure you're well aware, Mr. Hawkins briefed me on the events of your, er… mission. Can you think of anything you'd like to go over with me also? Something he might not have noticed, or that sticks out in your mind?"

"Well the bombs are a pretty key factor. I'm thinking he mentioned those," she said lightly, turning to look out the window.

The captain was less amused than she might have hoped for. "He did. Is there anything else?"

She looked over and met his eyes again. "The storm. We need to change course, if we haven't already. The maps. The stolen supplies… let's see… oh, the dead crew. He probably forgot that…"

The captain set his mouth in a firm line, looking highly displeased by her flippancy. "You are trying my patience, Mr. Morgan. You need to know that I'm taking this matter very seriously, even though you are not. I would like to remind you that you and Mr. Hawkins are the only two people who know what happened on that ship, so you have all the information we can get. Is there nothing you can think of that you may have spotted that he would have missed?"

Her stomach twisted guiltily. "The one bomb must have been in the galley, because Jim saw it, not me. I didn't go down into the galley, but I saw them…" she paused and looked down at the desk for a moment, fending off an unexpected lump in her throat. Her eye caught on a gold letter opener sitting in a groove near the top of the desk closest to her. She studied it while she gathered her thoughts. "I didn't see the bomb in there, but the other was sitting in the engine room. I saw it, but I didn't realize what it was… not until it blew up. There were two maps missing in the captain's room, and not ones we expected. Terra and Myamin. Every inch of rope and every barrel of gunpowder were gone, and there were fewer guns and such in the stateroom than I expected. There wasn't much that was knocked around or beat up, so there probably wasn't much of a fight—not that those merchants were armed for one."

He nodded seriously, his expression almost pitying as she recited her observations in a dead voice. "He mentioned the maps, and the stolen supplies, but he didn't mention a second explosive. He must not have known… thank you. That's very useful."

"How's it useful?" she asked incredulously, returning her gaze to him. "The ship still blew up!"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Their explosive devices are too weak to use only one. So if they were to attack us, they'd need about four or five. That's in our favor, and good to know."

Nick paled slightly. "Is there a chance they'll attack us?"

"There's always that chance. We're big, and relatively slow, and we have no reinforcements. They're in our airspace, and we run the risk of encountering them. But more pressing right now is that storm—it's not a risk so much as a surety. You and Hawkins both stressed that it's worse than we predicted… we changed course during the night, but it's only going to postpone the inevitable. We have to batten down today, because it's going to strike by nightfall."

She nodded, her head spinning as she tried to imagine what preparations for that storm might entail… and the sheer workload that was ahead for the day. "Yes, sir," she said after a moment. "What can I do to help?"

His expression shifted faintly, and he nodded. "Find Adamson. He'll give you instructions. You're dismissed."

Nick nodded in return and stood, heading for the door. She paused with her hand on the knob, staring at the door for a moment, then turned back to face him. Her gaze stayed glued to the floor, then she glanced up at him briefly before looking everywhere else. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, working to make a sound that just wouldn't cooperate. The captain gave her a wry half-smile. "It's okay, Nick. It's been a rough week. All is forgiven."

She turned red and met his eyes for a split second before muttering something unintelligible and making a hasty exit.

Captain Trelawney watched the door for a moment after the boy had gone. Then he allowed a smile to cross his face, and nodded to himself with no small amount of pride. Hawkins had a fine job of taking the belligerent little ragamuffin and training him up into one of the more efficient cabin boys he'd ever seen, without breaking his spirit. The boy was even bordering on cooperative most days, which was a feat that indicated to him that Hawkins was growing into a captain more readily than expected. He was proud of both of them, and pleased with the way his crew was shaping up.

There was a knock at the door. "Come in," he called. A slightly pointed face, with salt-and-pepper hair and beard, and large triangular ears peered around the door. "Oh yes, Adamson, good. I just sent Mr. Morgan—"

"He already found me."

"Did you—"

"Yes. And he's already on it. What happened to that kid?"

"Must have been a real shock yesterday. I can't even imagine seeing all that for the first time at that age. He's only…" he shifted the papers on his desk, revealing what he had covered while the boy was sitting across the desk. He picked up a file folder and scanned it. "Fifteen. Sixteen next week, according to his paperwork."

"A bit young to be so rough around the edges."

"But getting better. Hawkins must be getting through to him."

Adamson nodded and moved back toward the door, his bushy tail twitching thoughtfully behind him. Then he turned back with a sudden thought. "How's Slopes?"

"Still an idiot," the captain sighed. "He's lost use of that hand for a while. Nearly lost the finger entirely. For the time being, you're acting as second mate while he recovers."

Adamson nodded approvingly. "That'll make it easier to get them to work for me. Thank you sir."

"And now you've got a cooperative cabin boy, so this should be a piece of cake," the captain chuckled. Adamson rolled his eyes as he pulled the door open.

"Not exactly… but it'll be a nice change to have that stubbornness in our favor for once."

The captain smiled and shook his head musingly. "He reminds me of my younger son at that age," he admitted.

Adamson grinned in agreement as he exited and closed the door behind him. As he walked out on to the deck, his smile became rueful and he too shook his head, murmuring under his breath. "I dunno," he said. "He reminds me of my daughter."

---*---*---*---

There was a sense of urgency blanketing the deck as the crew raced around, shifting supplies belowdecks and tying everything down that could move. It was well past noon—nearing midafternoon—and what Nick had thought would be a relatively quick process was turning out to be a day-long endeavor.

"Cabin boy!" called a rough voice from across the deck. "Get over here!"

Nick tied off the rope she had been using to secure the barrels to the deck, and wiped her hands briskly on her pant legs as she walked over to the fox-man standing at the mainmast. "Sir?"

"Get this around your waist. You're headed out on the bowsprit." He tossed the end of a length of rope to her, and jerked a thumb over his shoulder to two young sailors standing by the bow. "Moder and Joche'll be holding your lifeline, but you gotta go out on your own."

She nodded, her pulse escalating just slightly as she glanced past him to the long, thin wooden shaft that was the bowsprit. Her gaze fell to the sail anchored near the end and she swallowed hard. "I thought we weren't securing the sails till later," she said as she tied the rope with the strongest knot Jim had taught her.

Adamson nodded and turned to point out into the space. "We've put off tying up the sails until last, and this is the trickiest one, because it's all the way out there. So we're gonna have you do it now while the wind's the best it's going to be." When she was confident that the rope was secure enough around her waist, she looked up and glanced between Adamson and the boys.

"Anything I need to know? Untie it, obviously, but is it the same rigging as the mainsails?"

"All the same, just a smaller scale and probably tied a bit tighter." He picked up a coil of rope and walked toward the bow.

Nick glanced back and felt a little bit of relief sweep through her when she saw that she was tied to the mainmast, so as long as she didn't come untied she wasn't going anywhere. Then she returned her attention to Adamson and the boys.

"This is Joche," he announced, pointing to a sturdy young fellow with massively thick arms and blue-grey skin. "It's not short for Joshua, and don't ask him to spell it." The young man grinned at her, revealing startlingly white, square-ish teeth. His hair was shaved to about an inch long all over his head, except near his forehead where it fell into his face a little, and his eyes were a dark brown. "And that's Moder," continued Adamson, "that's not his first name, but he takes it a little too seriously, so you've probably never seen him on deck." The other boy was much taller than Joche and ridiculously thin by comparison, with skin as pale as snow, and a shock of white hair that stuck straight out on his head. The goggles he wore on his forehead were dirty and scratched, so she knew they were more than an accessory. He grinned and waved a hand at her—a hand that had six long, spindly fingers and a glint of metal that caught her eye. He wore a strange contraption on his hand, a leather glove that covered only his palm, with tiny metal rods that ran up either side of each finger and circled them between the knuckles, like little braces. She glanced down and saw that the other hand was outfitted similarly. Then her gaze returned to his face, and saw that his smile reached his dark eyes, and his expression had taken on some amusement as she studied him.

"What are they here for?" she asked, turning to Adamson. "Not to be rude, but I'm tied to the mainmast. What's the point?"

"You've got more rope than you'd normally have. You need it to get to the sail rig. But if you fall off between here and there, there's no way you're getting back up on your own," he said matter-of-factly. Her anxiety returned and she looked between him and the boys again, reevaluating their appearances with the new criteria of needing to be able to save her life. Then she took a steadying breath and nodded again, not trusting her voice to stay steady.

"Not that you need two of us," quipped Moder. "Joche here could pull you back up with one hand. Or probably just with his teeth." He and Joche grinned, and Nick was tempted to get disgruntled and defensive… but she was too tired and distracted by the prospect of falling off the ship. So she settled for rolling her eyes and ignoring him.

"Okay, enough," interrupted Adamson. "We've gotta get this show on the road. There's more that needs to be done—though I know you two would rather stand around yapping like old women." Both boys smirked unapologetically. Adamson lightly pushed Nick forward with a hand on her shoulder, indicating that she needed to get out on the bowsprit. She took another deep breath and swallowed her fear, gingerly climbing up onto the rail and edging one foot out onto the beam. It was about twice as big around as she was, which would have seemed like plenty were she not balanced on it.

The wind, which hadn't even been noticeable on the deck, was suddenly a bit more than a light breeze. She wasn't sure if it had ironically chosen that moment to pick up speed, or if it just seemed worse because now it was affecting her balance. She crouched down and inched out along the wood, her hands out on either side of her and carefully shuffling sideways. She counted her steps, just to keep her mind occupied, but the wind continued to pick up, and when she realized she had counted 'ten, twelve, fifteen,' she gave up on that. She glanced back at the ship and saw the two younger men holding the rope, Joche in front and Moder further back, closer to the mast. Adamson stood between them on the opposite side of the rope, and all three held very tense poses. She plastered a smirk on her face and gave a smug little wave before turning back to face outward and taking a deep breath. The wind was swirling around her, not nearly as strong as she knew it would be in a few hours, but still enough to keep her crouched low to the spar and her nerves on high alert. _Don't look down, don't look down, don't look down…_ she told herself, repeating the tired mantra in an effort to resist the instinct. _Don't do it, Nick… you'll regret it. Don't you dare look down..._

It was just a little glance. Her eyes barely even moved, but her lower field of vision filled with space, and lots of it. A loud buzzing rose in her ears, and her stomach clenched tight. She dropped to a full crouch, gripping the wood with her hands and slamming her eyes shut. Her stomach was filled with tingly zings—cold and sharp, and not nearly as pleasant as butterflies. Why the hell did she do that? She was dizzy and sick, and not happy about this at all. But there were men watching from the deck, and she had to keep going… there was no backing down. She looked up at the rigging at the end of the beam and estimated that she was a little over halfway out. So it was all downhill. Just get out there and untie it… and then get back, but she could think about that later. She rose slightly, her heart still thundering and her ears ringing with the wind and anxiety, and began to move forward once again. The minutes ran together into a long, string of echoing heartbeats and adrenaline, and she watched the rigging draw nearer each step. When she reached it she crouched all the way down again, wrapping her legs around the beam as she leaned out to disengage the ropes.

The knots were drawn tight from the wind and she tugged at the line to put some slack on the rig. She tugged and worked the knots loose more easily than she'd expected—considering that having the knot fused tight would just be icing on the cake—and she was done relatively quickly. Then came the hard part… she released the rope anchoring the sail to the beam, and very cautiously stood again. She was crouched on the beam, her knees out to both sides and her hands clenching the wood as she slowly, delicately turned around to face the deck. Then she pushed up again, standing with her knees heavily bent, before beginning the shuffle back to safety.

She was nearly halfway back when the wind picked up speed again, just enough to make her drop her stance to lower her center of gravity. It was badly timed though, as the crewmen in the riggings had only partially retracted the boom sail, and the ropes on the end still flew freely. The wind caught the sail and whipped it back and forth, cracking the line like a whip just over her head. She ducked slightly, and eyed the rope with her heart pounding, watching to be sure she could avoid being snapped. Suddenly, she heard a shout from the deck and her attention was stolen for a critical moment as she tried to decipher which man had shouted what.

In that moment, the line cracked loudly just over her head and she instinctively ducked in response, adrenaline racing through her. Unfortunately, she was not accustomed to shifting her center of gravity whilst balanced on a wooden beam, and she ducked not only forward but to one side, so that she could look up with that morbid curiosity that desires to know precisely what is threatening. In ducking to the side she lost her center, and in pitching forward she lost her footing, and she toppled off the spar, throwing out a desperate hand to try to catch herself.

Luckily, she caught with more than a hand—her shoulder and the left side of her torso slammed into the wood as she fell, and she scrabbled to get a handhold. When the falling sensation faded, she found herself hanging by an arm-and-a-half, and clung on with a single-minded determination heedless of pain. After a moment she heard a whoop from the deck, but did not look up this time. Instead, she focused herself on throwing a leg up over the beam, and then on pulling herself back up so that her weight was no longer hanging. When that was accomplished, the strength went out of her and she lay along the beam, her face pressed into the wood, and closed her eyes as she tried to catch her breath, her pulse thundering in her ears and the wind whipping at her hair. There was another shout from the deck, and this time she allowed herself to look up.

Moder and Adamson were waving to her, motioning toward the deck. They wanted her off the bowsprit, and now. Joche held her lifeline tightly in both hands, the rope pulled taut in clear apprehension of the fall she _almost_ took. She pushed herself up on her hands and knees—and debated for a moment the idea of crawling back to deck… that was dismissed in favor of her dignity—then got her feet under her again, and hustled back to the deck as quickly as she could.

When she hit the solid wood, her knees gave out and she fell to all fours with her eyes closed trying to quell the tremors that shook her hands and rattled her breath. Adamson crouched beside her and put a hand on her shoulder, asking her questions that she didn't hear, and waiting for answers she couldn't give. Then there was a warm, black wall of fur pressed against her side and she wrapped an arm around it gratefully, pressing her cheek into his neck. When the roar in her ears faded, and the spots in front of her eyes stopped dancing across the wood grains on the deck, she blinked a few more times and looked up at him. "What?"

"Good job," he repeated slowly. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, slightly unsure of what was to be done now… He answered her by taking her upper left arm and trying to help her to her feet. She yelped and pulled away, falling back onto her heels and clutching her arm to her side."Stop! Don't... don't touch. I'm okay, just… let me do this." She leaned on her other arm, levering herself up cautiously so as not to jar her other side. It throbbed dully, but nothing felt broken—she had broken her arm once, and two ribs another time, along with a few fingers here and there, and this felt nothing like any of that. She wasn't sure what she'd done to herself, but she was going to guess she'd be lovely shades of purple and blue by morning… again.

She tipped her head back and shook her bangs out of her face, finding herself staring back into three concerned faces. Moder looked—if such a thing were possible—even whiter than before, and Joche's stoic face held a concerned expression. She frowned back at them, taking a defensive step back. "What?" she asked.

"Are you okay?" asked Moder, stepping forward.

"I'm fine… just a bit of bruising. I'll be fine. Don't touch me," she warned as he reached out. He yanked his hand back as though she had snapped at his fingers, and retreated into the ranks. Her panic had faded as she caught her breath and examined her wounds, but it returned as they seemed to close in on her, the wind howling and whipping around them, and the sky growing darker… were she superstitious, she might be inclined to think the end was near…

"All right, back up lads," Adamson said sharply. "Give the boy some space to breathe. He's like to panic if you keep movin' in."

Nick tried to resist nodding, feeling that that might undermine her "I'm fine" insistence, but a few tiny little head bobs managed to get past her defense. She really needed them to back up…

Adamson reached out and put a hand on her back, just below her neck, and pulling her through the crowd with Ishmael tagging along at her heels. "Go have the cook check you out. I'll wager he's got more experience than our illustrious ship's doctor…" there was a slight hint of bitterness in his tone as he spoke of the doctor.

"What's wrong with him?" she nearly croaked.

"That 'expert' is more suited to caring for ladies' fainting spells and 'tired blood' than for a ship full of sailors, if ya catch my drift," he murmured, pushing her gently down the galley steps.

Nick snorted at the irony, and Adamson looked at her strangely. Then he stopped her, and reached for her waist. She jumped back and tensed defensively, sending a sharp twinge through her shoulder in the process. His eyebrows went up in surprise, and she frowned.

"Sharp reflexes… I just wanted to untie you from the mast, so's you don't get yourself tied round the ship…"

She blushed furiously and dropped her gaze, reaching down to untie the lifeline herself. Then she scurried down into the galley, holding her arm to her side and allowing herself a moment of weakness. While Silver's back was still turned, and the crew was out of sight, she winced and shut her eyes. The impact still echoed in the muscles and the bones felt bruised… but it ought to fade soon…

"Lad? What're yeh doin' down 'ere? Don' dey need yeh up on deck?"

Her eyes snapped open, and she let go of the injured arm. "They prefer people who don't fall off the ship, actually…"

"Who fell off da ship?" he asked blithely.

She gave him a look and stepped up onto one of the benches, sitting on the table. "Nobody fell off, but not for lack of trying. Adamson sent me down here to get checked out… I landed on my arm and shoulder and ribs." She tucked the injured arm against her middle and curled around it.

"Why'd 'e send yeh 'ere? Dey've got a perfec'ly good doc upstairs."

"He said that fellow's useless. Or as good as. 'Sides, your eye's gotta come in handy sometime, right? I mean, besides figuring out people's secret identities."

"Ah don' righ'ly know 'ow t' use it fer med'cine, lad. I'm same as anyone else, stuck wit' ol'-fashion med'cine."

"So… you can't just check on my shoulder by scanning through it?"

"Ah could, but it'd be more 'ffective t' 'ave yeh take yer shirt off. Sorry, lad."

"Damn," she breathed. "Well… then just… never mind."

"Are yeh sure?"

"Yeah... I'll be okay. I'm not taking my shirt off when anyone's around, and hiding out somewhere is totally absurd. That would be even more suspicious-looking. I'll be fine."

He eyed her for a moment, then turned back to the stove. "Wha'ever you say, lad."

She sighed and pulled her feet up on to the table as well, and wrapped her good arm around her knees until she was tucked neatly into a little ball. Silver glanced over his shoulder again when she had been quiet for too long, and was surprised to see the little Nick-ball curled up on the table. He looked at Morph, who hovered by his shoulder, and the little pink blob gave something akin to a shrug. "Lad, if anyone comes down now and sees yeh like dat, yeh'll 'ave to answer a few questi'ns. Like why yeh fol' up like dat—boys dun tend t' work dat way…"

She slowly uncurled, stretching her legs out so that her knees cracked, then lay back on the table with her arms across her stomach. He realized she had been dozing slightly, and suddenly wished he hadn't disturbed her. Then with a heavy sigh and a heave she sat up again, wincing at the pain in her ribs.

"Go have a lie-down," he offered. "I already go' dinner in deh works. I won' be needin' much 'elp dat I can' get from d' rest of dem."

She shook her head with another smaller sigh, and climbed down from the table. "I'm going to back up there and see if there's anything else I can get done."

He thought to protest—dinner was nearly finished, and she'd have to come back down shortly, but he knew she wouldn't heed him. So instead he grumbled to himself for a moment about being cursed with a string of stubborn cabin boys who don't know what's good for them. Then he recalled that stubborn cabin boys became stubborn first mates, who _still_ didn't know what was good for them.

When Nick got back out on the deck, Ishmael came hustling from somewhere out of sight and barreled into her, weaving excitedly between her legs and beating her with his tail. She grinned and reached down with her good arm to scratch behind his ears. "Where have you been?"

"Off barking at the men up in the rigging," answered Adamson. "But only because I chased him away from the galley—he wanted to follow you down there."

"He could have…"

"Didn't want the cook distracted while he was checking you. What'd he say?"

"Oh… uh, I'm fine. Pretty cool-looking bruises, but that's all."

He raised an eyebrow at her hesitation, but didn't press. "All right, well… whatever you feel up to helping with, just go ahead. You can be excused from work until dinner if you'd rather—we've got everything covered."

She shook her head. "If there's something I can do, just tell me. It's not like my arm came off."

He smiled lightly and looked out on the deck in the fading light. "Well… I've just given the last of the orders… the men should be wrapping up soon." He sat down on the steps that led to the fo'c'sle, and Nick leaned against the railing with Ishmael sitting attentively at her feet. For a long time they sat in quiet observation as the men came down out of the riggings and milled about on deck. Most of the crewmen were stepping back from their work, looking around to see what else needed to be done. Everyone seemed reluctant to head belowdecks, but no one could find anything else to do, so clusters formed along the sides of the ship as the men stood and talked quietly. The sails were all secured, and the deck was cleared of all loose supplies and weapons… and the midnight-colored clouds swirled just off the starboard side, the winds coming in gusts onto the deck—there was time for a moment of rest before they all piled into the galley. "There's nothin' left to be done now, lad. The storm's practically on us, we just have to hope Hawkins gets back in time, and get that longboat tied up… then we're set to sit out the storm for the next four days."

"Four days?" she asked, thunder rumbling in the distance to punctuate her words. "I thought we were trying to only get clipped!"

"That _is_ getting clipped. This storm is _huge_," he emphasized.

"I guess so—" she began, but a shrill whistle from the galley caught her attention. Silver was calling to her. "Gotta go," she told Adamson.

"So I hear," he said with a grin. "Go on. Good work today."

She smiled back. "Thanks." And with that, she turned and headed down into the galley.

---*---*---*---

There was a gentle rap on the door. Alanna looked up from her book and glanced at the clock—dinner. The only human interaction she got during the day was when Mr. Hawkins delivered her meals. The rest of the day she was shut up in this stuffy little room, with no company but her maids… it was driving her mad.

"Come in," she called. The door creaked open slightly, and Nick peeked in around the door, carrying a tray with three steaming bowls of soup. Alanna grinned faintly. "Hello there… it's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Sorry I'm late, I just—"

"No, no. I don't mean that. I mean you haven't been by to talk to me for weeks. I've seen more of your first mate than I have of you."

Nick had the grace to blush slightly. "I'm sorry… it's been… it's been busy. I'll try…"

"No matter," Alanna demurred. "I understand. So much happens on this ship, and we see none of it…"

Nick made a face. "None of it fun, though. Don't worry, you haven't missed anything. And you won't miss anything—we're going to be battening down for the next four days or so."

"Lovely. More reason to keep me cooped up in here." Alanna threw the book onto the desk with a bit more force than necessary, and sighed. Nick jumped, and set the tray down on the vanity.

"Are you okay?" she asked hesitantly.

"I'm wonderful," was the reply.

"Maybe… maybe when the storm passes…" Nick offered in a small voice, "… you could go out on deck again… maybe talk to some people… so you don't get cabin fever and lose your mind."

Alanna paused, staring at the book on the desk for a moment. Then she slowly turned to look at Nick, raising an eyebrow as a tiny smirk rose on her face. "Do I seem like I'm losing my mind?"

"Maybe a little," answered Nick.

"That's because I am. This stupid ship, and this stupid room, and that stupid prince, and the stupid wedding, all for the stupid crown and the stupid Empire… I just want to quit, and cut off my hair, and dress as a boy and run away."

Nick frowned. "That's not the answer."

"It could be. If I had no responsibility to my people. I told you once—I wish I were you. No obligations. Nobody to answer to. You took your life into your own hands. I wish I could do the same."

"You can," she said quickly.

"No, I can't. I have to do what I'm told," Alanna said, with a rather large helping of bitterness on the side.

"You can… you can't change the fact that you have to marry this fellow, or that you've gotta be Empress in a few years… but you can change the Empire. You can change every other life under your command. Maybe if you just focus on that—on cleaning up the spaceports and chasing out the pirates and stuff, the rest of what's happening will just… take care of itself."

She looked doubtful, but thoughtful. "You mean… like keeping taverns from forcing their barmaids to be whores?"

Nick looked out the window watching the purple and black clouds rolling and twisting. "Like keeping girls from being forced to marry."

"And letting them work on ships if they like?"

Nick looked back at her and grinned. "Maybe."

Alanna smiled tiredly back. "I'll think about it."

Nick nodded agreeably and turned back to the door. "I promise I'll come by again soon," she said over her shoulder.

"See that you do. I'd hate to lose my mind," replied Alanna. There was an exchange of grins, and Nick closed the door behind her with a soft 'click'.

---*---*---*---

Nick entered the galley slowly, peering around and trying to get her bearings as to the layout—there were twice as many men eating as usual, so there were even fewer seats, and she didn't want—

"You! Sit here!" came a shout from the corner. It was punctuated by a sharp laugh, and a thunk on the table. She looked over immediately, startled by the sudden noises. Joche was pointing at the seat next to him, with Moder laughing on the other side of the table. Other men were at the table too, and they all turned to look at her. She recognized a few faces from working on the deck with them, but she had no names to put to them. Her cheeks flamed and she hesitated, fearing ridicule or challenging questions... but for lack of anywhere better to sit, she sighed and obliged.

"Right here," said Joche, as though she might not have perceived that he meant the spot next to him, even though it was the only open seat at the table. She nodded and stepped over the bench, sitting down awkwardly with her hands in her lap.

"So… uh—"

"How's that arm?" interrupted Moder.

"What?"

"Your arm? The one you tried to rip off earlier?"

"Oh, it's… it's fine."

"Let's see it!" he said excitedly, rising from his seat to reach up and tug on her sleeve. The collar of her shirt was pulled down over her shoulder, sending a panic through her. She jumped and yanked her arms away, wincing as she strained it.

"What's the matter?" he asked as she wrenched out of his grip.

"It… it's not up there… it's here," she said shakily, rolling her sleeve up. The underside of her upper arm was a lovely reddish-purple, bound to be darker by morning. The men nodded approvingly and a few bold ones prodded the marks lightly with their fingertips. Nick sat as still as she could manage until Joche swatted them all away.

"Wait till tomorrow when it's not still bruisin', ya dunces. You'll make it worse beatin' on it tonight."

"We weren't beatin' on it," argued a shorter fellow with a pointed, scaly face. "We were checking on it."

"Don't argue with Joche," interrupted Moder. "You know how he gets when he finds his new pet."

Nick blinked twice in silent horror. "I'm not… no, I'm not a pet, just… thanks, but no."

Joche frowned sharply and threw his spoon at Moder's head, who ducked and let it hit a burly man behind him. The man growled and turned around. "Keep it down, boys."

Nick sat half-petrified as this went on. Picking a fight was one thing—and it was one thing she was okay with. But she had a feeling she was going to get caught in the crossfire here, and she wasn't prepared for that. Surprisingly though, Moder just waved apologetically and the man turned back around. There was some light punching that went around the table as the blame was handed off, but eventually the matter fell from their collective conscious and the talk turned back to Nick's least favorite subject—herself.

"I don't keep pets," explained Joche. "I'm just… _capable_ of being nice to people, and these heartless trogs have no idea what that's like."

"So we tell him he's making a pet, which he is," continued Moder. "If we're nice to you, you'll think we like you, and we don't want you to think that unless it's actually true. But if we call you his pet, you won't know if we like you."

Nick's head spun slightly. Was this what Jim felt like when she babbled at him? "But you don't like me?"

"The jury's still out on that one," he answered with a smirk.

"So where'd they get a little runt like you?" interrupted the pointy-faced one.

"Spaceport," she mumbled.

"Really? Street rat?"

"You could say that…"

"What're they thinking? We got a 'cademy fulla boys rarin' t' get on a ship and the secon' one of 'em gets sick and pulls out we grab the nearest street rat?"

"Shut up, Piers. You know we couldn've gotten another cadet." Joche turned to Nick to explain. "Coop got the pox and we had to ship 'im back to the Academy. But then we were out a cabin boy, and it would take too long for them to send us a new cadet, so we grabbed one off the port."

"That would be _you_," Moder pointed out, in case she hadn't guessed.

"But Cooper was dead useful, you gotta admit." A third man leaned in close, almost conspiratorially. "He had hands for feet, an' this tail about as long as he was tall, an' he could do about four chores at once. Dead useful," he repeated, settling back.

"But dead he's useless," countered Moder. "And anyway, this kid's done okay. I think we're doin' alright with 'im, even if he's only got two hands."

Nick flushed and looked around, hoping someone would say something vaguely insulting. She knew she could come up with a response for _that_. But the conversation took off in another direction, beginning with the usefulness of tails and a second pair of hands, and somehow finding its way to the patapon races on Envor. Nick drifted out of the chatter, and stared into her hands on the table. Joche and Moder watched the kid's face, then exchanged a look. He was off-guard, dazed from the barrage. Moder decided to go in for the kill. He leaned in across the table, keeping his head low, and whispered "We know you're lying, by the way."

Nick looked up at him slowly, her heart suddenly thundering. She fought to keep her breathing steady and her expression neutral, but it was impossible to know if she pulled it off. "About what?"

"You know what," he said, more sharply than he intended. The kid had to _ask_?

"Mmm... not sure if I do. I could be lying about a lot of things, and now I'm not sure which one you know about." Her voice shook only slightly, though she felt a little better that he was falling back. He must have expected her to panic… outwardly, at least.

"What else could you be lying about?" he asked, slightly surprised.

"That would depend on what you know."

"We know you're lying about your age… you can't be more than twelve or thirteen. Why'd you say you were fifteen? You're not even shaving yet."

Nick stared at him for a moment, a small grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. Then it spread across her face, and she laughed and shook her head. "You're right. I'm not fifteen."

"Well how old are you? And what else are you lying about?"

She turned in her seat and got up off the bench. "I'm seventeen," she said over her shoulder, "and I'm really a shape-shifter."

Moder and Joche exchanged glances again, this time perplexed. There was something strange about that kid…

* * *

_Hee hee hee..._

__

Oh, Joche. Oh, Moder. You have no idea...

New characters! Old characters we haven't seen much of recently! Aren't you all thrilled?

Let me know if Moder's and Joche's names give you trouble. I tried to make the pronunciations clear, but if you have any questions, just let me know.

_Part two will be up soon, but don't count on it being much before next Friday. Like, not this one, but the next one. _

_Read and review-- anything you can send my way would be greatly appreciated!_


	16. Chapter 13: BUMP IN THE NIGHT Part 2

iNick stared at him for a moment, a small grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. Then it spread across her face, and she laughed and shook her head. "You're right. I'm not fifteen."

"Well how old are you? And what else are you lying about?"

She turned in her seat and got up off the bench. "I'm seventeen," she said over her shoulder, "and I'm really a shape-shifter."

Moder and Joche exchanged glances again, this time perplexed. There was something strange about that kid…/i

-----*-----*-----*-----

As soon as Nick got out onto the deck, she realized that she had forgotten to check with Silver about the dishes. He'd be mad, but she wasn't going back in until the crew had gone to bed. It didn't matter if she was up all night… actually, that would be just fine. She sighed and ran a hand over her face, ducking her head as she crossed the deck through the vicious winds. Halfway across the deck, she realized her shadow had gone missing. "Ishmael?" she cried, hoping to be heard over the gusts. "Ishmael, where are you?"

There was an answering bark from the direction of her room, and she scurried across the deck. The storm was only just warming up, but if she looked out into the distance it was all a mess of swirling purples and blues, with lightning jumping this way and that. It looked rather terrifying to be honest, and a cold fist gripped her stomach as she recalled the last time she'd been surrounded by that storm, and the accompanying panic. With one last glance around the dark sky she hustled up to the rooms, and looked around in the shadows for the dog. "Ishmael? Puppy, where'd you go?" she hissed.

Then she saw him—a dark shape moving low to the ground and barreling toward her. His cold nose dove into her palm and she gave a little sigh of relief, reaching down to scratch behind his ears. "Where did you get off to? You never go anywhere without me, and that's twice—" she stopped in midsentence as another, much larger shadow moved toward her. Her instincts kicked in and she backed up, craning her neck to see what approached. It was vaguely man-shaped, but much larger than any man she'd ever seen in her life, and blacker than the night sky. She froze, with absolutely no idea what to do. It was unlikely she could outrun it, and there was no chance of fighting it off… but those thoughts fled her mind when it extended an appendage toward her. A convenient flash of lightning revealed that it was a three-fingered hand, held out as though for a handshake.

"Monteblanc," he rumbled. It took her a moment to realize that that actually _was_ supposed to be a handshake, and that the single proffered word was probably his name.

"Nick," she squeaked, timidly offering her own hand, which was barely the size of the man's palm. "Nice to meet you…?" His heavy, solid hand closed around hers and she had a flash of panic at the sensation. It was rather like her hand had been buried under a ton of rock. With that panicked imagination that takes over one's mind as soon as the fear kicks in, she wondered briefly if he would crush her hand, or her whole body, and whether a hug would feel like being buried alive…

He grunted something she prayed was agreement, and released her hand. She yanked it back and gave him a little wave, stepping backwards. But, as was her luck, in the darkness neither she nor Ishmael were able to gauge their positions, and as she stepped back he crossed behind her. The backs of her knees hit his shoulder and he slithered out of the way as she tumbled to the ground. She couldn't see it as she scrambled up in the darkness, but a crack of a smile appeared in the craggy face—like a fault line in a boulder. Without another glance at the massive 'man' she darted into her room, followed closely by the dog.

The door slammed behind her and she sat heavily in her hammock, Ishmael ducking under the sling to curl up shyly. It seemed to Nick that he knew he'd brought about the bruise forming on her tailbone, and was trying to stay out of trouble… but she might have been giving him too much credit.

Suddenly the door opened right back up and Jim stomped in, trailing the storm in more ways than one. The air was suddenly thick with warm rain as he peeled off his coat and threw it to the floor, clearly aggravated. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, forcefully reminding herself that he wasn't actually angry with her. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

"Stupid curse!" he nearly shouted, not turning toward her. "The Montressor curse!"

"What?" she asked incredulously.

"I'm cursed!" he explained, reaching down to untuck his shirt. "Everywhere I go, it pours rain! I can't catch a break! It's one storm after another, more rain at each port… the storms even find me in space!"

Her eyes were wide, and one eyebrow was quirked in disbelief. "Really?"

"Think about it! On Niamath, it poured. On Rittinor, it poured. Out here, huge solar storm. I can't get a sunny day to save my life!" Then he sneezed violently as though to prove his point.

"Or your sanity," she quipped. "But at least you got the job done. I think I met that messenger…"

"Messenger?" he snorted. "Less of a messenger than a mountain with a message. Wasn't sure we'd get back in time—I needed a bigger boat." He reached behind his head and tugged his shirt off, the wet fabric clinging to the skin of his back and shoulders as he pulled it off. He stood in a soaked white undershirt, the thin fabric stuck to his skin… and Nick suddenly felt her face flood with heat. It had been one thing last night, when he was shirtless so that she could stitch him up. It was for medical purposes. There was good reason. But somehow now it seemed wrong… especially because she kept thinking about that stress-induced encounter last night. The one where she'd been a breath away from that same chest…

Jim groaned and sat down on the bed, jamming the heels of his hands into his forehead and shaking his head slightly. "You've given yourself a headache," she informed him, trying to divert her own attention.

"No."

"Really?"

"I already had one and I've made it worse."

"Same difference."

He shook his head again and sighed. "I guess so…" Then he rose again and peeled off the undershirt, sneezing once more for good measure (with the reflexive pained groan as it rocked his aching head) before reaching for his belt…

Nick was out of the hammock and across the floor before Jim could register that she had moved. The door slammed shut behind her just as turned his head to see what was going on. He frowned, looking down at the dog curled under the hammock. "What's gotten into her?" he asked quietly. Then he continued his task… and froze in the act of pulling his belt through. His face flushed pink and he realized what he'd done. In his grouchy, tired, headachey state he'd totally forgotten that she was accustomed to him changing down in the hold, in the shower room. He never changed his pants in the room, at least not while she was in it and not since he'd found out about her. Before that she'd always ducked out while he got ready for work or for bed. He groaned for what felt like the millionth time and flopped face-first onto the bed. First that little… _thing_ last night, and now this… he was on a roll. A series of uncomfortable events. Smooth, Jim. Really. Well done. Try taking off your pants in front of a girl like it's no big deal, and then be shocked when she runs off, totally freaked out. Wonderful. His head ached and he wanted to turn out all the lights and curl up in a ball, and to just have this whole day be _over_.

-----*-----*-----*-----

Nick stood in the hall, with her back against the wall beside the door. Her heart was thundering and she felt the warm flush of adrenaline tingling in her fingertips and belly. What was that?!? Why'd he have to go and do _that_? Was he really so out of his mind with fever that he'd forgotten she was a girl? It seemed unlikely—she was certain it would never escape her that he was a man, no matter how feverish and sick she got…

…so what did that mean? Should she just forget? Was it safer for her to pretend there was absolutely nothing wrong with the situation? She could almost convince herself that it was okay… it had been a while since seeing him change his shirt had sent a blush to her cheeks. They'd grown relatively comfortable with each other. Months of exposure did that to people. And she'd freely acknowledged that he was attractive—she'd known that from day one. It was hard not to know that. What she hadn't acknowledged was that _she_ was attracted _to_ him…

She immediately shut down that part of her mind. For now, for her sanity, she needed to pretend nothing had happened, that she had come out into the hall for a reason. So she headed down the hall and out onto the windswept deck, shielding her face with her arm as she fought her way to the galley. She ran as fast as she could to cover the distance, but if she was honest with herself… that had nothing to do with the storm.

-----*-----*-----*-----

In the shadows outside the princess's cabin door a hulking black shape shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He did this every hour, on the hour, all night and all day. His official role on this ship as liaison had already become secondary to his unofficial job as watchman—his favor to the prince. When he wasn't in meetings with Captain Trelawney and that young man trying to arrange the new rendezvous, he would be here keeping watch. It wasn't as though that was much of a task. The whole ship seemed to him to be oddly peaceful—even the rowdiest of the crew members were relatively sedate. The presence of the pirate crew was slightly concerning, and the talk of the double massacre that Archer now had on his head was certainly disturbing, but even that threat remained at enough of a distance that he wasn't immediately on guard. It seemed that he was going to spend these weeks on the Galaxy in a state akin to painful boredom.

It wasn't until the cabin boy came bolting out of his room, out of breath and clearly flustered, and flattened himself against the wall as though a pack of hellhounds had just emerged from his closet that Monteblanc began to wonder what else was going on under the radar that he needed to worry about…

-----*-----*-----*-----

Nick tumbled blindly into the galley at full speed, having nearly lost her footing on the deck. When the storm hit, it really hit hard. She cracked her hip on a table edge and bent double, gripping the wood as the sudden flash of pain slowly started to fade. _I'm just a mess today…_

Silver looked up from the sink at the sound of the impact and Morph's startled chirrup, and turned around to see Nick sprawled across the table. "Lad?" he asked hurriedly. "What're yeh doin'?"

"Breaking my hipbone. Because today hasn't been exciting enough already," she replied breathlessly.

The cyborg raised an eyebrow, then frowned. "I dun t'ink yeh'll be gettin' more excitement anytime soon."

"No, there's plenty to be found," she said as she straightened up, rubbing her hip. "You just have to know where to look." Then she paused, glancing around. Where are the dishes?"

"I got some o' t' boys t' help out… tol' 'em it was 'cause o' yer arm."

"Oh…" she said, trying not to sound disappointed. That was very kind of him, but now what was her excuse for barreling down here? "Um… is there… is there any soup left?"

" Didn' yeh eat?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes! I ate, I did, I ate at dinner… but Jim didn't."

"Why didn' 'e come down 'ere 'imself?"

"He's sick," she said a little more quietly, hoping he wouldn't press. She didn't know if he had a fever—she didn't know what was wrong with him other than a headache, sneezing, and a sudden lack of propriety… But the herbs and the soup and the whole endeavor was a time-killer. It would be good for him, even if he wasn't that ill, and it got her out of the room.

"Oh… well in dat case, dere's some soup still in t'pot on t'stove, but it might be cool by now…"

She went over and turned up the heat under it, then marched past him and went to the cabinet. Morph flew up beside her head and peered into the cabinet as well, as though to offer consultation. "Where d'you keep the spices and stuff?"

He frowned. "In deh nex' one over. Why? Wha' d'you need?"

"Lemon, sage, catmint, and yarrow," was the succinct reply.

Silver was quiet for a long moment. "Tha's quite a lis'. Where'd yeh learn dat?"

"Y'learn a lot of ways to fix ills when no one's allowed to take a day off."

That silenced him for another little while as she bustled around, finding most of the things she was looking for—Silver apparently didn't stock yarrow for regular use, and she pointed that out to him.

"Well what am I goin' use it for? Not like there's any use for it 'sides fever, an' yeh can get it from t' doctor!"

"I'm not going to the doctor," she said under her breath.

"Why no'?" he asked, making her jump. She hadn't thought he'd heard…

"Because I know what I'm doing, and I don't want to have to explain myself. I don't think your average cabin boy has experience with old-fashioned medicines."

"Good point, lad." He shook his head and went about his work, watching out of the corner of his eye as she hurried to add the herbs.

Nick sighed in frustration, digging out a knife and chopping the herbs a second time. If Jim noticed the unusual flavors, she could explain it away as an experiment by Silver. But if there were large bits and pieces floating around, clearly added after the soup was done being cooked, then she'd have to answer some more difficult questions. Between her stress and her tiredness she nearly cut her finger off, but eventually all the herbs were added to a steaming bowl of soup, which she let set for a moment so that they would infuse properly. A few choice pieces were fished out and offered to Morph, who nibbled contentedly on her shoulder.

"Yeh're good at dat," he offered. "Whyn't you take a turn wit' dinner some night?"

She shook her head and rolled her eyes at his smirk. "No thanks. Practice makes perfect, but I'd rather not get too much practice." Then she covered the bowl with a cloth and grabbed a spoon, putting the whole lot onto the same tray she'd used to take Alanna's dinner to her hours earlier. With a brief goodnight to Silver (and to Morph as he traded shoulders) she set out across the deck again, her head bowed against the onslaught and her knuckles white as she gripped the tray.

-----*-----*-----*-----

Jim lay on his side on the bed (having changed into dry pants) facing Nick's empty hammock and feeling wretched. He honestly wondered for a brief, feverish moment if she would sleep somewhere else tonight. But even as he was thinking it the door blew open and she came back in, announced by a gust of wind that flipped her hammock half-upside-down and rattled the closet door. She hurried across the room and set down a tray, racing back to shove the door closed and to lock it for good measure. Then she came back around to look at him and shook her head. "Sit up," she commanded. He was surprised, and did as she asked without questioning. She shoved his bangs aside with her fingers as her palm slid against his forehead. When he opened his mouth to protest, she held a finger to her lips and closed her eyes to focus. "You have a fever," she announced, and he shivered to confirm it. Then she bent down and picked up the tray, setting it in his lap and whisking the cloth off. "Eat."

He looked up at her in surprise. It didn't occur to him directly, but he recognized somehow that the tables had turned—that he answered to her now. She repeated the command, pointing to the bowl and taking a few steps back to sit down in her hammock. He obeyed reluctantly, taking a few cautious bites and pulling a face at her. "What's in this?"

"Lots of stuff. All of it good for you. Just eat it."

"But it tastes weird. Silver doesn't make anything that tastes like this."

"He made it specially for you," she answered, getting frustrated. "If you don't eat it, I'll be glad to force feed it to you."

He frowned at her and took a few more bites. By the time he finished, he was sweating. His cheeks were flushed pink and he felt chilled and hot all over. Nick watched with satisfaction as his body began to sweat out the fever, and saw his eyelids grow heavy in response to the herb-laced soup. He responded well to catmint—she'd have to remember that. She stood and walked over to take the tray, setting it on his dresser and returning to the bed. He still sat up, though it was even more of a slouch than it had been before, and watched as she went back to her hammock and sat down, looking back at him.

"Any more orders, cap'n?" he asked in a pitiful attempt at sarcasm.

She shook her head. "Nope. I'm not your mom. It's up to you now. I did the dinner thing—that's as close as I'll get to being a maidservant on this ship."

Jim was silent for a long moment, then slumped back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling. There was nothing to say to that. She was right, and he didn't have the energy to fight a battle he recognized as lost. But it wasn't long after that occurred to him that exhaustion swept over him in a feverish wave, pulling him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Nick sat up for a while in the hammock, thinking and wondering and scolding and resisting… it was fully half an hour later that she succumbed to the urge and rose from her hammock to tug his blanket up over him. She didn't tuck him in—in fact, she made every effort to avoid coming in contact with him at all. But she still felt stupid for doing it. Then she sat back down, one leg in the hammock and half-tucked under her and the other dangling out of the sling with the toes brushing the ground. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap and she stared out the porthole at the swirling blackness. A long while passed before she relaxed enough to lay back and close her eyes… it was even longer before she managed to drift off…

_She was back where she had been last night. That moment seemed frozen in her memory forever. But this time, she was able to notice things that had escaped her at the time… his breath brushed over her skin, and she could feel the heat from his skin as it radiated into the air… she saw him look between her eyes and her mouth, and she felt her face flush… involuntarily, as though there were some intangible force tugging at her, she fell forward… imperceptibly at first, then more surely… her lips touched his so lightly, so faintly, she almost didn't believe it was happening… _

Then she realized it _was_ happening, in the dream at least, and she sat bolt upright in her hammock, breathing as though she'd just run a race and with her heart thundering in her chest, rivaling the storm outside. Her eyes frantically searched the room, locating the door—still shut—the porthole, and the bunk, where the last person she wanted to see at that moment was sleeping peacefully, completely unaware. Her cheeks flooded red and she blinked furiously, trying to clear her mind and her vision—when she opened her eyes, reality was too close to her dream for comfort, but when she closed them the dream itself was right there, waiting for her.

She climbed out of the hammock, pacing the floor in circles because her nerves were too tightly wound to let her sit still. The exhaustion lingered, making her legs protest as she walked, but she was entirely unwilling to surrender to that again considering where it had gotten her the last time. For a few long minutes she walked and walked, trying to calm and shake the stupid dream from her head. Where the hell had that come from? What was she thinking? They hadn't even been _close_ to kissing—did this mean she wants to kiss him? She shook her head violently. No, that was too far-fetched to even be considered. She sat down again, so heavily that she almost tipped herself out of the sling. This was so stupid. It was just a dream! It didn't mean anything! She hadn't slept well since the ghost ship, and she had twice now been stressed out by her roommate's lack of… in her mind she hastily replaced the word _clothing _with _decorum_. It was just an exposure thing, it had to be. She counted back in her head—she had two weeks until her next cycle. Prime raging-hormone territory. It wasn't that she was attracted to him, per se, it was just that he was male and nearby and her defenses were weak from exhaustion and stress. She wasn't attracted to him.. _despite how attract_—NO! She wasn't going to think that way. He was her first mate, her friend, and as much of a confidante as she'd ever allowed herself. But he was never, ever going to be more. She couldn't set herself up for that.

A sudden ache rose up from her very bones, the adrenaline draining from her and the urge to lie back and sleep becoming nearly overwhelming. She hated that. Didn't she have any say in when she wanted or didn't want to sleep? So instead of giving in, she got up. She stood again, but didn't pace—she walked right up to the side of the bunk, and only after a moment of silence did she realize she was staring… her cheeks burned again, but she didn't move.

He was slightly damp with sweat and paler than he had been earlier. She reached out a hand to check his temperature, but yanked it back suddenly. What was she thinking? She couldn't just do that… especially not after that stupid dream… but she needed to check his fever. If it hadn't broken, she needed to get more fluids into him, more catmint and sage. She told herself that for medical purposes, this was perfectly acceptable. However, when she reached out a second time he stirred and rolled toward her, startling her nearly out of her skin. When he settled again she took a deep breath, steadying herself. It was an unfamiliar role to her—she'd taken an indirect role in nursing the sick girls at the inn, fetching soup and covering shifts, but she'd never played nursemaid. She didn't like any of them _that_ much. She couldn't afford to. Nursing Morgan had been so difficult, so emotionally draining… and all of it for naught. Nick hadn't been old enough to help take care of her mother, and she'd tried to make up for it with Morgan. But they all died. It was a fact of life. Whether you loved them or not, everybody died.

Nick's fingertips tingled as she reached out and brushed his hair from his forehead—necessary, she told herself, to get a better feel for his temperature. But any observer would have said otherwise. Nick was not a gentle person in practice—being sweet and kind was less effective than informing a person that you were someone to be cooperated with. This did not, however, mean that she was incapable of being gentle. She lightly traced one finger just above his eyebrow, pushing the hair away before laying her palm across his skin. He was still warm, but less so than earlier. His fever had broken, and was dropping quickly. Another day or so of soup laced with herbs and he'd be back to his normal self. He must have been getting ill before the trip to Rittinor—why hadn't he said anything? As she pulled her arm back from his head the bruise that now covered the entire inside of her upper arm, from armpit to elbow, twinged in protest. She really had no right to ask why he hadn't admitted illness, did she? She hadn't mentioned her own injury, and didn't plan to. It wasn't something he needed to be concerned about.

She stood lost in thought for a little while longer before she felt her legs begin to protest in earnest, and she sat back down in her hammock, staring out the porthole. When she fell asleep again hours later, she saw the bloody, shredded bodies of the crew of the Helios plastered across the inside of her eyelids, and she woke feeling claustrophobic, nauseated, and utterly, completely, painfully exhausted.

-----*-----*-----*-----

In the afternoon, or at least what his watch said was afternoon, Jim woke to a dark, empty room. His head pounded and his throat ached, but he felt slightly less like death than he had the day before. As his eyes adjusted to being open he glanced around the room, spotting the empty hammock and feeling his stomach sink as he remembered Nick—and last night. He had come back grumpy and soaked, he remembered that… and he had almost changed in front of her… then she had come back with his dinner, seasoned with what he was sure were herbs Silver would never include in a soup. They tasted like medicine—either Silver or Nick had drugged him with something. Judging by the tray beside his bed, laden with another bowl of soup and a glass of juice, they were trying it again. Gingerly he sat up and scrubbed at his face with a palm, feeling the cool air hit his skin through the damp shirt and making him feel absolutely gross… he reached behind his head and peeled off the offending fabric, tossing it at the foot of the bed. At least his fever had broken, he had to be grateful for that. Goosebumps raced across his skin as he adjusted to the room temperature, and he picked up the bowl of soup from the tray. It was still warm—she had been here recently. Suddenly a memory of what he thought had been a dream flashed in his mind. A cool hand on his forehead, brushing his hair back to check his temperature…

He shook his head. It had to have been a dream. He took a few bites of the soup and looked around disinterestedly, still reluctant to get up out of bed. There was nothing to do out there and nothing to do here but sleep, and none of that nothing appealed. So he stayed put, leaning back on the wall behind him and finishing his soup, and grabbing up Nick's discarded piece of rope from the floor to try to amuse himself for a while. If that didn't last, he was going next door to hunt down a book.

Nick was weary from a day of trying to follow conversations that were either intended to go over her head or just too fast for her to follow. Her chores hadn't been too hefty, and Moder and Joche had been willing—well, eager, really—to help. When she staggered back to her room at the end of the day she was windswept and tired and slightly dizzy, with a strange sense that she'd be right back there tomorrow… they hadn't lied when they'd teased that Joche would adopt her, they just hadn't mentioned that Moder would soon follow suit, and then a few of the others. She hadn't done anything the entire time she'd sat there, but they'd included her from time to time, and nudged her arm to let her know she was supposed to laugh at whatever joke she'd missed, and slammed open palms onto the tabletop to startle her out of her tired little trances.

It occurred to her at one point during the day that she had never done a thing to deserve the effort they were putting forth. The only things they could have known about her before yesterday were that she swore, was cranky, unfriendly, spiteful and tended to make things difficult for everyone around her. What had made them reach out to her like this? She wasn't even sure she'd have wanted to be her friend…but that thought led her down a convoluted rabbit-trail of 'what if's and 'if-then's that made her head pound, so she gave it up.

When she reached the door to their room, she glanced to Alanna's doorway and saw the hulking black mountain of a man standing guard. He looked back at her and gave a curt nod. Stunned, and with no idea how else to respond, she returned it. Then, as she always did, she ducked into her room to avoid further contact.

She froze in the act of closing the door. The logical side of her mind wondered immediately if he was even awake, but the length of rope in his hand and the fact that he had tied a rather complicated knot in it and was now struggling to untie it spoke to his consciousness. So why was he slouched against the wall, with his shirt tossed on the floor by the bed? She held the door open a minute longer for Ishmael and Morph to slip through after her then she closed it with a soft click.

Jim straightened at the sound of Ishmael's nails on the wooden floor, and looked up just in time to see Morph flying toward his face. He put up his hands in a futile effort to block the attack, but the little pink blob slipped through and greeted him with licks and squeals. Jim smiled despite himself and gave him an affectionate pat. Ishmael went over and sat more sedately by the bedside, but the fact that he didn't immediately curl up under Nick's hammock was unusual… Jim reached out and scratched behind his ears. "Hey there…"

There was an awkward pause as he looked up and their eyes met across the room. She was watching him for signs of illness, signs of fever, signs that there was something, anything she should be concerned about… He watched her right back, seeing the circles under her eyes and the way her face was pale under her tan. Finally Jim cleared his throat and looked away, feeling awkward. Nick stayed where she was, watching him look away. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Fine."

"Good." She nodded a little to herself, patting Ishmael's head as she walked over to her hammock and sat down, wrapping her arms around the backs of her knees and leaning forward so that her shoulders were practically on her kneecaps. Her head fell forward and her hair hung in a shaggy brown curtain to her shins. Her left arm throbbed and she wished she had thought to take something for it.

Jim shifted forward in his seat, watching her surreptitiously. "Are you okay?"

"Fine."

"Oh." He was taken aback by the sharp, though muffled reply. It occurred to him, in one of those all-too-brief flashes of insight, that she had been the one taking care of him. He flushed very faintly, and looked away again. She had brought him soup and checked his fever and taken care of him when he was sick… all weak and most likely pathetic…

… Jim felt a sudden wash of awkward awareness that was nearly painful. He looked over at Ishmael, who whuffed softly and looked back at him impassively. Then Morph settled down on Jim's pillow with a yawn and a sigh, leaving the two humans to their awkward mess.

Nick startled Jim by unfolding suddenly and stretching as though trying to wake herself. "Didja get bored enough today? Ready to get back to being bored with the rest of us?" she asked, making a feeble attempt at conversation.

"I wasn't awake long enough for much boring," he admitted. "But I think I'll be up and about tomorrow."

"There won't be much 'about'. Today everyone mostly sat around in the galley, shootin' the breeze. Except when they did chores." _My chores,_ she added mentally. Stupid boys trying to help—they weren't helping, they were leaving her idle. She couldn't be idle now, she needed to be moving. Sleep was becoming the enemy, and the longer she put it off the more intimidating it became.

"That's okay," he said, undecided as to whether to keep the conversation alive or to let it die mercifully. After a few seconds, after they both reached the conclusion that he had chosen the latter, he broke the silence again. "Thanks. And I'm sorry."

She looked at him, startled. "What?"

"Thank you," he looked down and sighed, regretting opening his mouth, "for the soup, and… stuff," he mumbled. "And I'm sorry… about… y'know… last night… I didn't mea—"

Nick made a sharp sound to cut him off. "It's okay! It's just—it's fine." There was a pause. "And you're welcome."

He nodded and swallowed hard, almost as embarrassed as he was relieved. The silence fell back in place, and stayed there for the rest of the night, until Jim fell into a slightly less dreamless sleep than the night before.

Nick napped for no more than five minutes at a time until well into the early hours of the morning. When she fell asleep for real, she dreamed that she was wandering all over an empty Galaxy, chasing a haunting ticking noise, and she woke in a panic when the ticking stopped and the world exploded in a wave of white-hot heat and a deafening boom.

-----*-----*-----*-----

The next day was a blur. Nick had few real, clear moments; most of the day was spent in a haze, lost in thought and unable to follow conversations, every other word punctuated with a yawn. She did the chores that Moder let her do—but many of them he did himself, or he handed off to Joche, or Jim had already done by the time she got to them.

She recalled sitting at the table in the galley, watching Jim talk to Moder, Joche, Piers, and the other men she had met a few nights before, and in a rare moment of lucidity realizing that he was different than he usually was—he was one of the men, instead of their officer. He was smiling broadly, teasing them, laughing with them, telling stories and offering opinions… things she had never thought to imagine him doing. But he was comfortable with them out of uniform, as their friend instead of their commanding officer. He seemed more open, more… _Jim_. Like it had been there under his skin alongside the First Mate all along, but he hadn't been able to be Jim when he was First Mate. As she pondered the possibility of there being more to people than met the eye, she slid into a drowsy trance and lost her train of thought.

Everything else that stuck out in her mind was less interesting—she passed on lunch and was scolded by no fewer than four crewmen, who informed her that growing lads needed more food than that. The unspoken implication being that if 'he' kept eating so little, he'd never grow into a proper man. She rolled her eyes and ate without tasting any of it, looking forward to when the nosy men were back at work and would leave her alone.

Then Moder caught her off guard in the middle of the afternoon, grabbing her upper arm to get her attention as she phased out once again. She yelped and pulled away, grimacing as his fingers dug painful trails through her bruised arm. He made a startled sound and backed off, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. "I'm sorry!" he said quickly. "I forgot!"

She took deep breaths and hugged her arm to her chest, shaking her head and trying to convey to him that it was all right, it just hurt. The message must have been lost in translation because he peered at her closely and put his hand on her shoulder. "Are you… _crying_? I'm sorry, kid, I didn't mean to—"

Nick lifted her head and glared up at him. "Why the hell would I be crying over a damned bruise?" She shrugged his hand off and started to stalk off.

Moder stepped back and held his hands up again. "I dunno, I was just asking. Sorry, geeze." He backed up and turned, leaving her alone for a moment. She rubbed her arm from shoulder to elbow, as though trying to talk it out of hurting any longer. Then she sighed and shook it out, returning to her work.

Jim watched the whole thing from his seat nearby, and frowned darkly when she yelped. What was wrong with her arm? Why hadn't she mentioned it? And why was Moder _touching_ her? When she walked past him he stopped her with a hand carefully on her elbow. "What's wrong with your arm?"

She blinked at him in surprise, for what felt like the millionth time in the last few days. Then she sighed and stifled another yawn. "Nothing. Don't worry about it," she said dully. Then she went on about her business, heading to the back room to get a crate of… well she couldn't remember exactly what Silver had asked for, but she was sure it would come to her when she got back there.

Jim rose and followed, convinced that he needed an answer, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to get it. "Nick, why did you scream when Moder grabbed your arm? Did he hurt you?"

Nick frowned at him. "One—I didn't scream. And two—he didn't hurt me. Leave it alone, Jim." She saw the crate of blackfruits sitting in the back corner and remembered what Silver had requested… and that it was going to be heavy and painful to carry. But she set her jaw and did her best, bracing the crate against her stomach and turning around just in time to see Jim kick the door shut behind him.

-----*-----*-----*-----

Joche nudged Moder's elbow. "What'd you do that for? Making the kid yell. Didja forget about his arm?"

"I didn't mean to!" He made a frustrated sound. "If it's such a big deal, go check on your pet! He nearly bit my fingers off when I tried to help!"

"He's not my pet, he's the cabin boy. So it's our job to look out for him, 'specially with Hawkins outta commiss—" Joche trailed off as the cook loomed up behind Moder, somehow even taller than the gangly grease monkey and at least four times broader. It wasn't that his expression was particularly menacing, or that he gave off any sign of anger… it was merely his powerful presence and unmistakable interest in the conversation that made Joche defer.

"Yeh'd be better off no' lookin' after tha' pup," he warned gently. "'E's got a knack fer draggin' folk down wit' 'im. It'd be fer deh best if'n yeh'd let Hawkins 'andle it. If yeh catch mah meanin'."

The two crewmen nodded obediently, then attempted to make a subtle escape. The subtlety part failed, especially when they both shot fearful glances over their shoulders and Moder's arm collided with the wall because of it, but they made it out of the galley. Silver shook his head and sighed. That lass was making a lot of trouble for herself…

-----*-----*-----*-----

"Open the door!" she demanded, not quite panicking but certainly feeling unpleasantly trapped.

"Why? I'll open it when we leave. For now, we're talking."

"Are not," she retorted. Then she winced in pain and set the crate back down, fighting the urge to rub her arm or soothe the ache.

"Fine," he said, shrugging as though the entire matter was inconsequential. "Don't forget the jar of beans. Silver asked for those too." He pointed to the large jar on the top shelf to her left.

Nick frowned. She couldn't remember that… but she didn't want to have to make the trip again, and if Jim was lying he could bring them back. She wasn't going to put up with his stupid tricks.

He watched as she rose onto her tiptoes and stretched to reach the jar. Both of her arms went up, fully extended, and her large, baggy sleeves fell just above her elbows. He had counted on her being too sleepy and distracted to realize they would do so… The huge purple-black-blue-red-green mess on her inner arm was visible as he watched, and it made his stomach turn. He reached out and snatched her wrist before she got to the jar, slowly stretching her arm out level and wrapping his other hand around her forearm (she tried not to notice that his fingers overlapped) to push her sleeve up to her shoulder.

"What. The hell. Is this?" he growled, his voice low and urgent.

She was caught off-guard by the sudden contact and his glare. "A bruise. What the hell does it matter?" she snapped.

"What happened? Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"Why would I have?" she asked, her tone dropping back from anger to tired pleading. "What does it matter?" She tugged her arm away, the sleeve falling back down to cover the bruise.

"Because…" he began, falling back a little in surprise. "I… I would want to know. Or help. Or something."

"Thanks but no. I'm fine, really. Just… leave me alone, please?" the pleading tone came back just enough, just so that she was asking but not begging. She really just wanted to be ignored right now. She almost missed it…

He shook his head slightly, with some frustration, and tried to find her wrist again but she pulled away. "Well fine then," he said quickly, trying not to get angry. "I'll leave you alone if you promise to try to get some sleep tonight. You have two black eyes right now, and for once you weren't in a fight."

She grinned weakly and looked down as she brushed past with a noncommittal reply, wishing she could shake the feeling that he was looking straight through her. Even worse, she almost wanted him to. He knew better than to force her to explain, but she wanted him to know, same as she'd found she wanted to tell him her middle name and ask him about his friends… but that was a huge mistake. Every time she let him know something, he wanted to know more, and she wanted to tell him more, and handing her life over like that was even harder than handing over her secret. And the more he saw her, the more his men saw her, and she just didn't want to deal with being visible right now. She'd had enough attention in the last few days to last her a lifetime—who would have thought that rough-and-tumble Navy sailors turned into mother hens when cooped up for too long? She hadn't ever wanted that many people watching and assessing and critiquing her life. She would be more than happy to see them all get back to work when the storm ended.

Jim turned to watch her go and sighed heavily. He'd been all prepared to yell and shout and get his way, but it seemed that nothing ever worked out the way he expected. Especially not with Nick. She brushed past and went out the door, laid the jar of beans on the counter without pausing and continued up the steps to the deck. He had a pretty good idea of where she was headed, and let her have her head start. He would check on her after dinner.

-----*-----*-----*-----

Nick was pacing, because sitting down had ceased to be an option. The longer she kept in motion, the longer she could avoid the torture her subconscious persisted in inflicting on her. So it was back and forth, back and forth, up and down the length of their admittedly tiny room, humming lightly to herself as she went. Eventually she was lost in thought, drowned in vivid memories and fears, and she slowed to a stop as her body admitted weariness without her mind's approval. She stared out the porthole at the lightning-filled clouds, only somewhat aware of the view and not at all aware of her surroundings. When the door creaked open and a black furry missile bolted to his spot under the hammock, she was violently startled and only barely managed to keep from toppling into her hammock to avoid being steamrollered. She heard another sound from the doorway and looked up to see Jim following in more sedately.

"Aren't you going to sleep yet?" he asked, as though unsure of the reaction this would elicit.

She shook her head. "I was getting there. Not quite, uh… not quite yet."

He shook his head again, and went about his business preparing for bed. She sat down on the hammock, trying to seem like she was calming and cooperating. When he fell asleep, she would get up again. And then she would crawl back in bed before he woke and he would be none the wiser.

Jim, however, was not quite as stupid as Nick would have hoped. He was certain he could outlast her, and planned to see her asleep before he let himself shut an eye. He sat down on his bed facing her, and with his knees on his elbows met her tired gaze. There was a long moment of stalemate, and then she sighed grouchily and lay back down, facing the wall. If he wanted to be that way, fine. She'd play along. It wasn't like she couldn't stay awake lying down. He was just being juvenile, making her pretend to sleep.

She didn't realize it when her eyes fell shut. Nor was she able to fight off the heavy, deep sleep that washed over her a little later. But when Jim stood after a few minutes and checked her, she was passed out cold. He smiled a little smugly, convinced he had won the battle, the war, and the right to remind her of it for as long as he liked.

-----*-----*-----*-----

_She looked around the ship frantically, the darkness pressing in at the edges of her vision, threatening to swallow her if she dared to blink. Her eyes ached and her head swam as she craned her neck, and she tried to call out for him. The sound of her voice was drowned in the wind, as though she made no noise at all. She felt the cry on her lips and felt her throat tense and relax as the shouts rose and then died, and she could hear her words ringing in her head, but still no sound above the roar of the storm. He wouldn't hear her. She had to find him, they had to get out of there, there was no way they were going to survive, though she had no idea what was coming or why they had to flee. She screamed one last time, not bothering with words, but still no sound could be heard._

_With a familiarity that she couldn't explain, she began to search the ship. Doors opened, and dark corridors loomed, but no matter where she went she couldn't find him. Every hall seemed to end in a wall, and there were endless turns and twists… it occurred to her that this ship was impossibly convoluted, and it seemed she would never be able to escape, much less find him. She turned and cautiously made her way through the maze and back out onto the deck, feeling the wind whip around her as though suddenly angered by her presence. And then she knew—she had to look in the galley. It was clear as day. He would be in the galley with the crew, huddled together to wait out the storm, just as they had done before. She shook her head at her own foolishness, and hurried down to the galley._

_When she reached the kitchen, she found it impossibly dark. She was forced to creep through the blackness toward the center of the room, where there would be a lamp waiting, or at the very least the stove could be lit. One foot, then the other, inching forward in the suffocating darkness… careful… steady now… almost there… and then she found it. The table sat in the center of the room, with the lamp on it. She lit the lamp… with dream-magic, apparently, because she held neither match nor flint. She held the light aloft, turning to look around the dim galley. When she saw what surrounded her, she screamed in shock and horror._

_The dead man's eyes looked back up at her blankly, his face bloodied on the one side and his mouth open in surprise… or a silent scream. She tried to escape, to push away, to run, but as she moved away she found that she was surrounded. Dead men on every side, their skin stark white against the crimson bloodstains, some with large portions of their skulls or faces gaping open and all very clearly, very brutally dead. Her eyes flashed from face to face, recognizing each man. Adamson, Keillor, Ruffilo, Piers, Moder, and Joche… Suddenly she became aware of hot tears streaming down her cheeks, and she sucked in a ragged breath to sob, or scream, or call out for help. But there was no one to call to. They were all dead. They were dead, and he was still nowhere to be found… she wondered if he was dead too, somewhere else. Her tears continued in horrified silence, until she became aware of a ticking noise… almost in the back of her head…. but not quite right. It wasn't the ticking noise she knew… not the bombs they had seen. It was different. As she listened, it rose in pitch and volume, and grew closer…_

_Everywhere. They were everywhere. The floor seemed to come alive and rose up around the bodies strewn on the floor, swarming to cover everything, the dead men disappearing almost immediately under the undulating mass. Every inch of her skin was covered in them. She felt their little legs scratching at her, felt their slight weight pressing into her skin… they were everywhere and they were _writhing_… she tried to move, tried to brush them off but they swarmed her… they were under her clothes and in her hair… they crawled on her face and she grimaced and tried not to scream—if she opened her mouth they'd crawl in… They kept swarming, kept crawling, kept scratching, kept pressing on her until she couldn't move at all and could barely breathe. She heard screaming, but her mouth was still shut and the beetles crawled across her tightly pressed lips so it couldn't have been her… until suddenly the screaming stopped and she couldn't breathe at all…_

Jim fell to his knees beside her, and clapped his hand over her mouth. He had woken to a thud and the most bloodcurdling scream he had ever heard in his life—there were goose bumps on his arms and his heart was pounding. It was a testimony to his Academy-honed reflexes that he was fully awake and alert, with no trace of the drowsiness he usually waded through in the morning. "Nick!" he hissed. "Nick!!" She did not respond other than to twist and try to free herself from his grip. He shook her gently. "NICK!" She continued to fight him, scratching at his wrist and fingers to try to pull his hand from her mouth. Her cheeks were wet under his fingertips and her face was screwed up as though she was in pain. "_NICOLE!" _he whispered loudly. Her eyes flew open and she froze, staring at him. Her fingers dug under his palm, trying to pull it from her mouth, and her eyes were wide and terrified above his hand. His stomach clenched and he realized she was most definitely not all right. "Nick—Nicole, I need you to be quiet. Can you stop screaming for a second?" She started to shake her head, but then her eyes squeezed shut and another tear rolled down her cheek and she nodded. He lifted his hand slightly, and she lay with her eyes closed, panting for breath and shaking. He tried to pull his hand away, but he only got it a few inches from her face when he realized she wasn't going to let go of it. "N-Nicole, I need my hand. Can I have it back?" No response. "Nick?" She hiccupped and sucked in a ragged breath.

"No."

"No what?"

"No more," she begged.

"No more what?"

"No more. Don't go, they'll come back… no more, no more."

"All right, Nick. No more. I promise."

She looked up at him, surprised. "Promise?"

"I promise. No more."

"No more…" she repeated, without the pleading. She held his hand tightly in both of hers, looking up into his face with eyes that still held fear and panic. He sat back on his heels and stared openly at her face. For a brief, tense moment their eyes met, but she gave no indication that she even saw him. Physically, she seemed awake—she looked around a little, her eyes wandering but always finding their way back to his face. Her breathing was rapid and shallow and he would have bet money that her pulse was absurdly high, judging by the way her hands shook. He was at a total loss as to what to do with her at this point. He knew she wasn't completely awake—she hadn't recognized him at first, and she hadn't responded to Nick… she thought she was still Nicole.

"Nicole? We need to get you back in bed… you can't sleep on the floor…" She didn't respond, so he shifted himself to a crouch and tugged her hands to indicate that he wanted her to rise. She slowly sat up, and he took her unbruised upper arm in his free hand and helped haul her to her feet. She swayed a little, and leaned gently on him to steady herself. He flinched slightly at the contact, involuntarily shrinking backward. Nick would never have done that, leaning on him that way… except for on the Helios, when she was terrified by the sight of the dead crew. He was suddenly back in that moment, and he braced her the same way he had then—protectively, but trying not to overstep his bounds. It took a moment, but he eventually remembered what he had been trying to do, and he nudged her forward toward the hammock.

When it hit her leg she yelped and tried to jump away, knocking into him and nearly sending them to the floor again. Jim wrenched his hand from her grip and threw it out to the wall to stay upright, while the other hand shoved her face against his chest to muffle her scream. For a precarious moment he thought she was going to send them crashing to the floor, but they steadied, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Which was shortly followed by a pause when it registered in his mind that, in the absence of his hand, she had grabbed two fistfuls of his shirtfront and was holding on for dear life. He stood there for second, paralyzed, with one hand on the back of her head and the other braced on the wall. If she were awake… well if she were awake she wouldn't be clinging to his shirtfront, now would she?

"Nicole! What's wrong?!?" he whispered urgently.

"They're in there…" she hissed into his shirt. "They're still in there… they're dead. They're all over me… they're everywhere…don't go…"

Jim's skin crawled. "What are?"

"Beetles… everywhere…" The pure fear in her voice rattled him, and he wanted to comfort her… did he dare? Wide-awake-Nick would have resisted, insisted she was fine, and pushed him away, but this wasn't her. Would she even remember any of this in the morning? He made a split second analysis, and decided to take the chance. He put his arm loosely around her shoulders, trying not to cross any lines of propriety—and then wondering vaguely why that had even entered his mind.

"It's okay, Nicole. They're gone now… they're gone. They won't bother you anymore…"

"Everywhere," she insisted. "Don't go…" He instinctively stroked her head gently to try to soothe her.

"No. It's safe here. You're safe…" he glanced around. Where was he going to put her? The floor was absurd, the hammock was out of the question… suddenly his gaze lit on the bunk. He shifted her—though it may be more appropriate to say he half-carried her—a few inches away from the hammock. "Is the bunk safe, Nick? You can sleep in my bed." And then of course he blushed because that was probably the lamest proposition in the history of men trying to get women into beds. But he wasn't exactly after the same purpose... "Nick," he repeated when she didn't respond, "you can sleep in the bed. No bugs there. I promise," he added, recalling how she'd latched on to that word before. He moved around a little more, aiming to drop her onto the bed. But when he released her, she stayed put, clinging hard to his shirt.

"Nick? You have to let go…" he pulled gently at her wrists to try to disengage her. She held fast. "Nicole?" he started tugging at her upper arms, finally losing a little of his calm. "Nick, let _go_!" he pulled her off of him, and for a frozen moment he held her away from him by her shoulders, her fists still out in front of her as though to fight him off. She looked into his face with wide eyes, startled and frightened. His resolve vanished, and his grip loosened on her arms—he had never seen her so scared, not of anything they had faced in the last six months. And yet when he pulled her away from him, the loss of contact brought panic to her face. She stared at him for a moment, comprehension dawning in her expression. She seemed to wake a little more, though still not quite all the way.

"I was looking for you… I couldn't find you… they're all dead, all of them. You were dead. Everyone was dead…" she swallowed hard and tears filled her eyes again. "You were dead, and I couldn't find you," she repeated.

"I'm not… I'm not dead," he said quietly, stating the obvious in lieu of anything more comforting coming to mind. "It's okay, Nick, I'm not dead. You're okay now. We're okay. Nobody's dead. We're okay…" He bit his lip as her face slowly relaxed, his words registering with her. She looked up at him for another moment, her hands slowly falling from their defensive position and resting at her sides. Then she began to fade again, dropping her chin and leaning in against his chest as the tears poured forth. He couldn't tell if she was crying from the panic or relief, or simply an adrenaline drop, but she was suddenly heavy against him and the fact of the matter was that she _was_ crying, for whatever reason, and Nick didn't cry. He couldn't help it—she seemed so upset, and he had to do _something_—he wrapped his arms around her back, trying to comfort her. "It's okay," he repeated. "We're alright." She sniffed and turned her face so that her cheek pressed into his shirt, bringing her arms around his waist hesitantly. He instinctively rested his jaw against her hair, curling around her slightly and tightening his hold around her. She settled in his arms, the tears slowing and her grip around his middle tightening as the sense of security returned. Jim relaxed too, letting his guard down for just a moment. This was a much nicer Nick than he'd dealt with earlier… maybe she just needed some sleep, and she'd be back to her old self. His hand brushed over her back soothingly and he took a deep breath in. The smell of her filled his nose, and he shifted his head…

Suddenly, a flood of panic swept through Jim and he stiffened, pulling away from her slightly. He should not be doing this. They should not be doing this. She had a nightmare, yes, but this... this was all kinds of bad. His heart was pounding and he couldn't think quite straight… he just knew that he needed her to let go of him, and he needed to let go of her. This should not be happening… he dropped his arms from around her and reached behind him, finding her wrists and unlocking her grip. He brought their hands up between them to create a safe distance, and met her eyes when she looked up at him. "You need to go to bed now," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "You need sleep…" He stepped forward, momentarily closing the entire space between them, and pushing her backwards. She stepped back and hit the bunk, sitting heavily and looking up at him with a slightly confused frown. "Go to sleep," he repeated, reaching down and lifting her legs onto the bed, turning her so she sat correctly. Then he let go of her a little more quickly than was kind, but the haste was necessary as far as he was concerned.

She sat there for a few confused seconds. "S'not my bed," she mumbled.

"I know," he soothed, trying to keep his voice low and steady. "It's safe though."

"S'your bed," she pointed out, starting to get up.

He pushed her back down with a firm hand to her shoulder. She looked at the hand for a moment before finding his face. "Stop it, Nick. Go to sleep. Take the bed for tonight. No bugs in there."

She seemed to give that some thought for a moment before cooperatively laying back, rolling onto her side and curling up. He pulled a blanket hastily over her before taking several large steps backward. "Goodnight," she whispered.

"Goodnight," he whispered back, watching her face as she fell asleep. It was quick, and he found himself watching her sleep for a few moments without realizing it. He stumbled back and sat in the hammock, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

Granted, it had been only a momentary thought. And it had been her hair, nothing more. _And _he'd stopped himself. But the fact remained, and it was haunting him.

He'd almost kissed her.


	17. Chapter 14: STANDING HERE

_A/N: HEY! Long time no see! Glad to hear from all of you, but unfortunately I had too many reviews to name you all... ::guilty:: So here's a big fat generic THANK YOU! I hope to get the next chapter out really soon, considering finals are next week and then I'm on break! Much love and I hope you all enjoy!! _

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN: **_**I'M STANDING HERE UNTIL YOU MAKE ME MOVE**_

First there was the headache. It was a sleepy, stuffy, never-want-to-get-out-of-bed-again headache, and she hated it before she was even fully awake. Then she became vaguely aware that a dim light was pressing on her eyelids, tingeing them red, so she turned her head slightly to escape it and buried her face in the pillow, inhaling in a stifled yawn. Her nose filled with a suggestively familiar combination of wood, salt, spice and his soap… wait. _His_ soap? Why did she know that? There was something undeniably 'his' about it… it triggered a memory in the back of her mind that refused to step into the light and be identified. She had smelled that before…

She slowly lifted her head and opened her eyes slightly, and stared down into the pillow as though trying to remember the name of a long-forgotten acquaintance. Then it hit with a force similar to the winds brutally battering the ship—that was Jim's pillow. She pushed herself up on all fours and scrambled backwards to sit on her heels with a pounding heart and a strange twisting and churning panic in her belly, looking around frantically. She was in his bed, and he was nowhere to be found… though she appeared to be wearing all her clothes, which made the lack of memory from last night slightly less disturbing and worrisome. She quickly leapt down from the bed and hustled on her tiptoes back to the hammock to try and pretend that nothing had happened.

Jim slowly and quietly shut the door again and leaned back against the closed door with a sigh, cradling the coffee mug in both hands. She was clearly panicking. He didn't need to go in there and make it worse… he'd wait a second and try to think of some explanation that she'd be able to handle. He wondered how much of last night she remembered, and then tried hard not to flush when he recalled precisely what he was trying to explain. He'd startled himself pretty badly—and to think he hadn't even thought before it happened. But this morning over his coffee he'd managed to convince himself that between being tired and sympathetic and a little scared for her, the kiss would have been entirely brotherly. Honestly—a kiss on the head? Nothing untoward about that. He straightened up and turned to face the door, raising a hand to knock…

…just as the handle turned and the door swung inward, revealing an ashen-faced Nick. She instantly stepped back and pressed a hand to her heart, breathing hard and swearing under her breath. "You scared me half to hell," she informed him, backing up to let him in with the clear intention of slipping past to escape. He stepped in and shut the door again, pretending he hadn't noticed her target.

"I'm not the only thing," he said, glad for the easy transition. "What was that, last night?" He went over to sit on his bunk, hoping he had her attention well enough that she wouldn't proceed with the escape.

"What was what?" she asked, intentionally playing dumb. She still didn't remember everything, but the lines between dream and reality had blurred, and she didn't know what had actually happened. Would he tell her?

"Last night. You, uh… pretty sure you had a nightmare. Loud one," he added, unsure of how to proceed. He hadn't expected her to forget everything… he watched her face for a moment as his words slowly fell into silence. She looked at the floor for a long time, but her expression didn't change much. The lack of defensive shouting told him she remembered more than she had admitted… and perhaps was remembering too well. He reached out and grabbed her wrist lightly, the contact making her jump again. She looked up at him and blinked rapidly, as though to clear her vision, and he dropped her wrist.

"Sorry. Yeah, I guess… I dunno. Bad dreams happen. Sorry if I woke you…"

"Well, yeah, you kinda did. Do you remember the dream?" he prompted.

"Didn't I tell you about it?" she asked, speaking before she thought. "I mean, yes, I remember it, but I thought…I guess that was part of the dream…" she hastened to add, shuffling a little nervously.

"No, no, you did. I just… just checking. You told me about it, and that's why you were in the bunk," he continued, trying to ease her mind. "Apparently there were beetles in the hammock."

She looked up at him again and the corner of her mouth twitched. "Beetles? I said that?" That particular exchange had escaped her, though she remembered being buried alive under the swarm of bugs. "I'm sorry, that…I guess I was really out of it."

He grinned back. "Kind of," he admitted, relieved. Maybe she hadn't woken up as much as he'd thought. Maybe she wouldn't remember much at all… he rose and handed her the mug of coffee he'd been holding. "You need this more than I do," he said lightly, patting her arm as he went past. "Storm's clearing out. Work starts up again this afternoon. Be ready," he cautioned as he went back out into the hall.

Nick cradled the coffee in both hands and sat down on the hammock once more. Ishmael looked up at her from the floor, his doggy grin wide and innocent, and his tail thumping the ground. A huge sigh escaped her as her shoulders sagged with relief. She had racked her brain immediately after waking up, but all she could remember beyond the swarm of beetles was being in his arms and crying and telling him she couldn't find him and he was _dead_… she remembered the dead all too clearly, and the beetles, and the way he'd held her. But if she'd babbled about the bugs and refused to be put back in her hammock, and he'd put her in the bunk, then it only made sense that she'd dreamed him holding her. She fought back the blush as the logic solidified in her mind, despite the vividness of her memory. The warmth, and the comfort… she hadn't been comforted after a nightmare since before her mother had died. It felt good. She sighed once more, a little more softly, and pushed the memory to the back of her mind. No use dwelling on dreams and nightmares when there was a real world to deal with… though there was still a warm spot on her upper arm, and an inexplicably related curl of warmth just below her ribs. She reached out and patted Ishmael's head, grinning to herself. The smell of coffee filled her nose and she took a big sip, seeking the warmth and caffeine to get her going for the day… what she got instead was a mouthful of sticky sweet syrup. She nearly spat it back into the mug in surprise, but instead swallowed it with some difficulty. When she looked down at the seemingly innocuous black liquid, she realized it was only half full, and quite a bit cooler than it would have been fresh. Several urgent thoughts fought for dominance in her mind, but the only one she allowed in was the one that made her smile, and made the curl of warmth burn a little bit brighter…

She hadn't realized Jim put sugar in his coffee.

* * *

"Hawkins? Report, please."

Jim's head snapped up from where he had been staring at the floor. "Oh, uh… well, as far as I can tell, the majority of the damage from the storm was to the sails—the edges are shredded and the connections to the mast are weak—the power isn't getting to the engines. I can work on the connectors with a couple of the engine boys, but the sails need a professional. We're also low on fuel from fighting to stay on course, and we have minor damage to the rudder. In my opinion," he began, then looked to the captain for permission to speak his mind. There was a slight nod, and he continued. "In my opinion, we need to add a stop in port. But that would be expensive, and would put us even further behind. I don't know that we can afford it in any sense."

The captain sighed heavily, and looked to the mountain of a man standing hunched by the door, staring politely out the large glass windows behind the desk. He wasn't sure how to approach this—if he pushed forward and the damage cost them more time than a stop in port, then he'd have tortured the poor ship for no reason. But he couldn't afford the damages right now, and it was entirely possible that they could do enough of their own repairs to make it last… "Hawkins, can you and the boys work on the rudder too?"

Jim was a little surprised. "Yes. But that would be dangerous out in the middle of space… It would be better to do that in port. But if we do stop, we don't necessarily have to pay to have someone else fix it."

The captain looked down at his maps again, calculating distances and wind speeds in his head. His finger touched down on several points on the map, his lips moving ever so slightly as he weighed each possible stop against the others. There was a long, thin silence hanging as Jim tried not to stare at the messenger, and he jumped slightly as the captain spoke up. "It's only a day or so to Caerow at our current speed. We stop in to get the sails fixed, and while we're in port you and the boys work on the rudder. We should get there around midafternoon the day after tomorrow—work through the evening and we can leave before breakfast the next day. Lunch at worst. They'll have the best sail-menders out of our current options. Does that work for you?"

Jim nodded, pleased with the plan. Save money and lives where possible, and defer to experts where prudent. It was precisely what he would like to think he would have come up with. "We'll begin work on the connectors today," he added, moving to be dismissed.

The captain nodded and opened his mouth to address the other man. "Do you think that His Majesty will understand? I despise delays as much as the next captain, but this at least assures that we will arrive in one piece."

The rock-man stepped forward with an eerily quiet grace, reaching deep into the pocket of his dark overcoat and producing a canvas bag of moderate size that chinked when he set it on the desk. "His Majesty foresaw supply difficulties. He sends his apologies."

The captain and the first mate gaped at the bag and the large man respectively. "What is this?" cried Trelawney.

"Money," answered the delegate.

"Yes, I know, but there's too much! What's it for?" the captain asked, suspicious of being bribed.

"Inconvenience," he replied. And try as they might, that was the last word they got from him on the subject.

* * *

Nick hurried down to the galley when she had changed her clothes (she hadn't planned to, but that scent had clung to her shirt and that… well, that just wouldn't do. Though she couldn't do much about the scent in her hair…) and was surprised to find that despite Jim's warning about work resuming, the long tables were as full of idle deckhands as ever. She refilled her coffee mug, diluting it with milk rather than sugar, and sat down beside Joche. Ishmael sat beside her on the floor, glancing around to see which hands would slip him food under the table. He looked at her curiously, and Moder snorted from across the table. "Finally discovered coffee, have you?"

She half-smiled, half-scowled into her mug, taking a long drink of the coffee. "I knew about it. Didn't want it."

"Well, that's just stupid. Why not?"

"Cause it would've meant having to admit I was awake enough to have an asinine conversation with you," she shot back, prompting a barking laugh from Joche. Moder grinned as well, glad to see that the cabin boy was back to himself.

"Well then shut up so I don't keep tormenting you," he retorted, folding his arms.

"I would, but if I shut up you'll think you've won, and we can't have that, now can we?"

"But if you don't shut up then I won't. And you'll just have to keep talking to me all damn day, now won't you?"

Suddenly there was a shout from the other end of the galley, where several men were crowded and one or two had their arms raised over their heads in apparent victory. She craned her neck to see what was going on, but all she could make out was a barrel in their midst, and a heavy thunking sound between cheers. She turned back to Joche curiously. "What's all that?" "Throwing contest. But I don't see why they waited till today. They're going to have to go back to work before anyone has a chance to win." Moder snorted. "Have you seen Adamson? He'll knock them all out of the running before Cooper Jr here finishes his coffee!" "Hey!" Nick protested, not quite sure how she felt about that nickname. Moder studiously ignored her. "Some of the other guys opted out just so they could watch and not forfeit."

"Are they allowed to be doing that?" she asked, still straining to see the contest.

"The biggest problem they'll have is whether or not they asked the cook for that barrel," Moder said skeptically. "Bet they didn't. He'll have our asses…"

"Our?" she asked, her voice rising slightly. "We didn't do anything!"

"Yet. Don't you know how to throw?" he asked, rising. Joche stood as well, watching the contest as well as the debate beside him.

"No…" she said cautiously, heretofore unaware that this was a mandatory skill.

"What kind of port rat are you? How'd you survive without throwing?" Moder seemed surprised.

She shrugged. "Like I always do," she answered non-commitally, letting her record speak for itself. Moder made a noise akin to agreement, and changed the topic back.

"Well Adamson's the best I've seen. I can hit a target pretty broadly, but I'm not as good as most. I'm better with the delicate fingerwork. Like engines," he admitted, flexing his fingers in front of him. The metal braces clinked and popped as his knuckles bent and straightened.

"What're those for?" she asked, once again speaking without consulting her brain. Luckily when she looked up into his face he was grinning, and she realized that his dark eyes were actually purple…

"Genetics. Long, skinny fingers tend to be weak or break, so people like me who actually need to use their fingers for more than basic tasks tend to wear gloves like this. Keeps all my joints in line and steadies the bones. I'd be out of work pretty fast if I broke a finger or two."

Nick nodded. She actually hadn't thought of that, but it made perfect sense. "Could you take them off if you wanted?"

"I could. I won't. I don't fancy the risk. But if I needed to, say I were handling something even more delicate than the circuitry, then I could take them off. It would depend on her preference," he said, elbowing her suggestively. He and Joche both laughed and there was some kind of male congratulatory hand gesture exchanged, while Nick fought to keep her cheeks their normal color. _You're being an idiot, _she told herself, and repeated it again and again until she could feel the heat receding. Luckily, as it usually is with boys, the topic changed again briskly, and Nick found herself in the crowd of men around the barrel, watching Adamson pin purps to the wood with a thin-bladed knife. Someone would toss a fruit into the air, and he would throw the knife, and with a wet thud both knife and purp would be stuck to the barrel as a rowdy cheer went up. Then the purp would be handed off to someone to be eaten, and the blade would be cleaned and handed back to Adamson for another round. She found herself cheering along with them as new things were found for him to hit—blood halkuns, biscuits, and some unfortunate mate's hat.

"What's dis?" came a shout from the galley stairs. Silver was returning from dumping the waste over the side. "Git outta here, the lot o' yeh! Throwin' knives in me kitchen, are yeh mad? Go on, git out!" The crewmen scrambled up to the deck straightaway, laughing and pushing each other around. Spirits had certainly risen now that fresh air was available, and they were all eager to get out on the deck and into the sunlight. Nick was left standing with Moder and Adamson, the one waiting to head belowdecks again, and the other cleaning his knife of halkun blood. She glanced up at the tall, pale-skinned mechanic and raised a questioning eyebrow. He sighed and punched her lightly in the shoulder before heading out as well, probably to take in the little sunshine he'd get before being locked away in the engine room. She shook her head with a smile before turning back to Adamson.

"How'd you learn to do that?" she asked, trying her hardest to keep the silly-sounding awe from her voice.

"Throwing takes years of practice," was the only response she got as he stuffed the knife back into the top of his boot.

"But there's a basic technique, right? And then after that it's all practice?" she persisted.

"Yes. But after that it's _years_ of practice," he said, clearly familiar with the argument.

"Right. But could you teach me the basic technique? Please?"

He straightened up and rolled his eyes. "Do you know how many boys I've taught to throw knives?"

"No."

"Fifty-seven. Do you know how many actually practiced until they could hit a target?"

"Um… fewer than fifty-seven?"

"Three."

"Wanna make it four?" she offered, with a smirk that was two parts laughter, and one part pleading.

He rolled his eyes again. "Four out of fifty-eight is still pathetic. And three out of fifty-eight is worse."

"So because none of them had the dedication, you assume I don't?" she asked, getting offended.

"Pretty much. No offense, but all cabin boys are basically the same. You've got something to prove, but no patience to follow through."

"But I'm not a Navy cabin boy," she pointed out, edging in front of him as he tried to step around her. "I'm a street rat. I'm only alive 'cause I know how to fight for what I want. That's different." She was admittedly embellishing the 'street' part of her background, but the fact was that her patience and determination had kept her going since she was six. She was not going to let him think that she didn't have the skills to learn this.

He sighed and stopped. "Go do your chores. I'll think about it, and let you know."

She frowned and looked at him a moment longer before walking away, almost stomping, but not quite. That kind of answer wasn't an answer at all, and she resented it. Silver called out to her teasingly, asking what t' devil she wanted to learn to throw knives for. He wasn't that terrible of a cook…

She laughed and threw a purp at him, which he caught. "Not a bad cook, but a terrible boss," she retorted, setting to work on the dishes. It seemed like she was doomed to be forever washing dishes…

"Well, dere ain't much I can say t' dat except t'anks," he smirked. "Dat's all d'praise I've been lookin' fer."

Nick rolled her eyes, aware that no matter how she responded, he'd remain unruffled. Better not to respond.

* * *

It was a long day for everyone—all the work that had been done in preparation for the storm now had to be undone. Barrel after barrel was hauled back up from the hold, sails were unfurled and connected the best they could manage, and ropes were replaced and retied. Several of the engine-room hands were brought up from belowdecks to help, and even Nick was called up from the galley to help with the unloading, because an extra pair of hands (however small) were necessary. But it wasn't long before he was banished back down to the galley by the first mate overseeing the work. Moder watched curiously as the cabin boy sent the first mate an angry look, then stormed over to give him a piece of his mind. He elbowed Joche and indicated the pair. "Wanna tell me why the cabin boy's not allowed to work like the rest of us?" he whispered.

Joche blinked a bit as he watched the exchange. "Maybe 'cos… he hurt his arm? Or 'cos he's useless for being so scrawny?"

"He _is_ scrawny," Moder agreed, shaking his head.

"So're you though, and you get to work," Joche shot, elbowing him in the side.

"Well you're shorter than 'im, so you oughtn't be allowed to work," he returned.

"Actually, I'm taller," Joche replied, sounding surprised himself.

"Really?" asked Moder, equally startled by this. Joche was universally acknowledged as just about the shortest a Naval officer could get away with being.

"He's not really very tall at all," Joche added. "Maybe they thought he'd grow? I mean, he's got lots left. He's not even that strong yet."

"Doesn't seem to be growing," Moder said doubtfully. "By that age the cadets are usually sprouting overnight. Kid hasn't grown an inch since he got here."

"Voice is pretty high still. Not high, overall, but not deep. Just stuck in the middle."

"But it doesn't crack," added Moder.

"He isn't shaving."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say he was about ten years old. But there's no way."

"Too old for that. Too old to not be growing or shaving or any of that."

"How old?"

"Heard he turns sixteen sometime this week," said Joche, the closest thing the ship had to a gossip.

"Not a chance. Talks like an eighteen-year-old, but looks twelve. Maybe he ain't human? Then our math would be off."

"Said he was a shapeshifter. But he doesn't look like any of the ones I've met."

"None of the ones you've met looked like any of the other ones you'd met. That's part of being a shapeshifter," Moder pointed out.

"Well, yeah. But he only ever looks like him. Most of 'em were always shifting from one shape to another, even while you were talkin' to 'em. Growin' wings, and un-growin' 'em, eyes changin' color, hair growin' in and out… Kid doesn't ever look like anything else."

"So he lied. Or joked. Whatever. There's something off. Something I can't put my finger on…"

"D'you think he's…" Joche trailed off as his words died in his throat. Another possibility had occurred to him, but he didn't dare speak it out loud. Either he'd be mocked ruthlessly by Moder, or… well, on the off-chance he was right, he couldn't be overheard.

"Maybe," said Moder, a similarly absurd thought simmering in his brain. "We'll have to see what we can find out. Y'know, he reminds me of a Charlie I knew back home," he added, looking down at Joche.

The shorter mate frowned slightly. "Yeah?" he prompted, wondering where this was going.

"Yeah, an old friend. Haven't seen much of her of late." He raised an eyebrow to his companion.

"Her?" Joche asked with less surprise than before, playing along now.

Moder's grin was enigmatic, with equal parts mischief and menace. "Mm-hmm. Charlie was short for Charlotte."

* * *

Nick was a fizzling tangle of fury and confusion and embarrassment… and something else that she did her best to bury beneath the fury, confusion, and embarrassment. Why had he called her down? What was he thinking? She could work as well as the rest of them. He was being an idiot, and protective, and both made her mad. Silver had let her go up to help—though he had made a face as though asking the heavens for patience. But he hadn't threatened her secret with his doubts. Jim had barely given her the chance to test her arm out before he called her back and sent her back to the galley. The obvious reason was that the cabin boy was too weak and small, and that the cook needed help; and she didn't doubt that the crew would take that as face value, but it irritated her beyond belief.

But what irritated her even more was that as she was arguing with him (and losing), she'd caught a faint hint of that scent she'd woken up to, and had been thrown into a strange moment of déjà vu… a warm, strong embrace, and the thudding of a heart under her ear… even if it had only been a memory, the heat had risen to her cheeks and she promptly lost her train of thought. So she had turned and stormed away, just as promptly. By the time she stopped walking, she realized she was standing in the middle of the longboat hold, with her arms folded over her chest and a fierce scowl, and absolutely no idea what she was doing down there. Her heart thundered in her chest in a weird combination of battle rage and anxiety, and she looked around the dim room as though searching for her purpose. There was no reason to be down here, but she wasn't leaving again soon. She looked for a place to sit, and then realized that she could sit basically anywhere… so she hauled herself up to sit on the side of a boat with her feet dangling in the air, arms braced on either side.

Seemingly overnight, everything she thought she understood about her relationship with Jim had shifted. Just a week or so before, she thought she'd finally found a friend. Someone she actually trusted. Before the Helios, before her nightmares, before her stomach started playing tricks and her mind started wandering to strange and unexplainable thoughts… she almost missed those days. They'd had a short time of easy, comfortable friendship, and now she's ruined it.

She hardly had a moment to mourn before the door slid open, and then shut again. She met Jim's eyes across the room, and her stomach flipped as she realized she was cornered. Then she groaned and rolled her eyes, sliding back into the belly of the longboat so that her feet were perched where her behind had been, and she lay on her back on the floor looking up at the ceiling.

"I sent you to the galley," Jim said quietly, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he approached.

"Got lost," she murmured.

"Don't."

She flung an arm over her eyes and wished briefly that he would go away so that she could figure out why she didn't want him to go away…

"What are you doing down here?" he prodded, bumping her boot with his wrist, hand still in his pocket.

She sighed and didn't uncover her eyes. "I'm mad at you," she said simply, though she knew that was only half of it.

"I know. But what are you doing down here?"

"Being mad at you," she repeated, unruffled by his insistence.

"Which one of us are you trying to convince?" he asked with an infuriating smirk.

She uncovered her eyes specifically to roll them at him, then dropped her arm back over her face. "You can go away now."

"You're not really mad. You just think you should be," he continued. "But you know I'm right. They're not going to question that it's because of your arm, and they shouldn't because it is about your arm. You can't afford to injure it any more."

"It's not about the arm."

"Yes it is," he said quickly.

"It's because you think I can't do the work. I don't know why you think that, but you do," she said quietly, the words pouring forth unbidden. She uncovered her eyes and sat up a little. "I think it's because I had a bad dream last night, and suddenly all you can see when you look at me is a screaming little girl. If I could undo last night I would, because apparently it changed everything."

There was a moment of silence as they both gave that some serious thought. She hadn't realized how much it scared her that she didn't remember, until she saw his face change. Something he remembered made him pause before answering. Her stomach dropped slightly. Apparently her shot in the dark had hit home… it really was about last night. He really did see her differently now.

Jim's stomach dropped too, just a bit. He had no idea what she knew, or what she didn't know, or what she remembered… but she was right. She'd nailed him with that. It was about last night. But it wasn't because he doubted her. "Nick, that's not true," he managed finally.

"Why can't I do work then? It's not about the arm—the arm is about four days old. It's healing. It's fine. Why am I not allowed to do what I need to do to keep my job, and keep my secret? Why can't you let me do what I've been doing for months now? What's different about today?"

"I can't…" he blurted, then stopped himself. "I… just trust me." Then he sighed and held out a hand. "Get out of that longboat. I'm supposed to be down here fixing a fuse that blew while we were out racing the other day."

She rolled her eyes and took the hand, figuring it would get her out of the boat faster and therefore out of the hold faster. He pulled her up beside him, and she straightened herself out, turning her back to him to slip past on the narrow walkway, perilously close to the edge. He blocked her with his arm, her stomach caught in the crook of his elbow, and his hand carefully away from her side. She was stuck right in front of him, and he half expected her to push him away, and shove past him, or to yell or make an incensed remark…

But she surprised them both by not saying anything at all. She just looked at him for a moment, but didn't seem to realize how long she was quiet. He bent his head a little to speak softly beside her ear… he had to say this before he lost his chance, or his nerve. "You're wrong if you think all I see anymore is a scared little girl. That will never be true. I saw you more scared than I think I'll ever see you again, and I still can't think of you as a scared little girl."

His words sent a prickle up her spine, but she forced them from her thoughts. He was too close again. She was certain she could feel the warmth of his body, and that damn smell was messing with her again. Why had she set herself up for this? Stupid to let him get so close, to trap her like that. She pushed on his arm with both of her hands, and though she made leeway it wasn't enough to get past. "Let me go, Jim," she said in a low voice.

He didn't deign to reply to that, but merely kept his arm out in front. She was forced to give up, and huffed her irritation as her hands dropped back to her sides.

"Why do you dream about death?" he said in the same low tone, his breath brushing her ear. She froze, her eyes growing wide and her heart skipping several beats.

"What do you mean?" she croaked.

"I mean, when I woke you up last night, you were screaming that everyone had died. And then you were crying. Nobody died, Nick. Nobody we knew, anyway."

She set her jaw hard, biting the inside of her lip. True, it was the first time she'd had a nightmare involving Jim and the crew. But she'd had that nightmare before.

"Everybody dies, Jim. And I've already admitted—"

"Death scares everyone," he interrupted dismissively.

She whirled on him furiously. "Everybody has nightmares too, but you're standing here making me explain mine as though I had some kind of control over it!"

He sighed. "Aren't nightmares supposed to come from something? I mean, the Helios was bad, but I didn't have a week of bad dreams…"

"Jim, I—"

"Help me out here, Nick," he said again. "Please. I just want to help."

She wrapped her arms around her middle, and looked down at the floor.

"Who died?" he asked gently, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

"I couldn't do anything to save my mom," she said, throwing the words at him defensively. "I knew that. I was six, and even I knew nobody could do anything. But Morgan… I thought if I did everything I could, then maybe she'd stick around. She was my…" Nick stopped to swallow hard, looking for the words. "She took care of me. She wasn't another mom, but she kept me safe. I didn't know how much she did until she was gone. But she died too. Everybody I let myself love died."

Jim felt a weird swooping sensation in his stomach. Last night, she'd looked him straight in the face and said that he'd died, and she couldn't find him. Now she was informing him that everyone she loved died. How was he supposed to interpret that? He took a deep breath and shook his head a little, putting that one on the shelf for later. He laid his whole hand over her shoulder comfortingly, and dipped his head a little to look into her face. "I'm sorry, Nick. I had no right to drag that out of you."

She looked up with a tired, tearful laugh. "Can you believe I'm glad you did?" she said, rolling her eyes at herself. "I'm so tired of thinking I'm on my own, and I can't tell anyone anything. I'm not used to you yet, but I think I could get there," she said with a smile.

He grinned back, and made a quick decision. He pulled her in against his chest, wrapping his arms around her reassuringly. She dragged her feet a bit at first, scuffling her boots against the floor. She was hesitant about what he was doing, and there was a twinge of a memory at the back of her mind, but then she was surrounded. His arms held her tightly, and she could hear his heart beating in his chest… she took a deep breath, and found with surprise that this time the scent steadied her. Reassuring and comforting and thrilling all at once, it strengthened her. She sighed heavily, the tension draining from her as her shoulders fell, and she wrapped her arms around his middle. She felt his jaw against the top of her head, and she closed her eyes. "I didn't dream this," she said softly. "You were there… after the nightmare. Like this."

"Yeah," he answered just as softly, and she felt his voice rumble in his chest.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you for being there. I haven't… I have nightmares a lot. It doesn't take much. But I've woken up alone for almost as long as I can remember. That was… thank you."

He smiled a little, and they slowly pulled apart. It struck him as odd how well she fit into his arms… or how comfortable they both felt. With a mental shrug he tried to dismiss it as a logical next step. Friends often comforted one another. It was natural. There was no reason to read into it. Then he was suddenly distracted by a new thought. "So, is your last name really Morgan? Or did you steal that too?" he asked, out of the blue.

She laughed and gave him a smirk. "No."

"What is it?" he persisted.

"Not telling. Save that for another day."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You gonna help me with this fuse, or what?" he asked with a grin, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

She felt the absolute strangest sensation in her stomach. Almost like the bottom dropped out of her stomach, and was replaced with a live wire… he had a very nice grin when he was trying to be charming… she'd noticed it before, but somehow it hadn't ever had the same effect. She nodded and sighed. "Let me go turn the lights on."

He looked around sheepishly. "Is it bad that I forgot they were off?"

"No… but it's probably a good thing they were. If someone had come by.." she trailed off, unsure of how to complete that thought. If someone had come by, they would have had to separate in a hurry. And there would have been stories to invent, and lies to be told… it would have been a mess.

He sighed and climbed into the longboat, lying on his back on the floor and sliding up under the consol. Nick came back from turning on the lights and climbed into the boat, perching on the side and trying to watch with only the appropriate amount of interest. And to not watch the muscles in his forearms as he pulled the panel cover off. And to avoid thinking about that hug… she suddenly realized he was talking. "What?"

"I said, hand me those pliers on the bench."

She scrambled to get them, and handed them over quickly. He ducked back under the console and she released a breath she hadn't meant to hold. "What exactly are you doing under there?" she asked, trying to distract herself.

"Just changing a fuse. It's not a big deal, but I blew it out when we were trying to get out of the way before the ship blew up," he explained, his words slightly muffled.

There was something about how commonplace he made it sound, and the fact that the last of the fears and tensions relating to the experience were fading fast, as the way he sounded from under the console… she began to giggle. Just a little at first, but soon she was holding her stomach and blinking back tears as the laughter flowed from her. It felt like it might have been the last step she needed to cover in healing from that tragedy. She wasn't ever going to be the same, but at least now she was as close to normal as it would get.

Jim slowly sat up, peering up at her from the floor of the longboat. "Are you okay? That wasn't funny…"

"I'm fine," she gasped, swiping at her eyes. "It's just… been a crazy week…"

He felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "I can't believe it's been a week. Feels like forever and a day…"

"I know," she said, calming slightly. "Never thought so much could happen in a week."

"_You have no idea," _they both thought, simultaneously.

It was quick after that—the new fuse popped right in and the old one was tossed out. Nick watched distractedly, trying not to dwell on the thoughts that would get her into trouble. She and Jim were friends. They'd made it over a big hurdle, and recovered from the Helios incident. The last thing she needed was to push her luck because she was being stupid. She got herself lost in thought, arguing about the degree of permissible stupidity, and yet again did not hear the request for a screwdriver.

"Nick?" he asked again. "Ni-ick?" But there was no reply. He sighed and sat up, and shook his head. She was staring into her hands, clearly thinking hard. He pushed up to reach past her, to the side of the boat where the screwdriver sat—she'd abandoned it there when he'd exchanged it for the pliers. But she was startled by his movement, and snapped out of it, looking up and opening her mouth to make a comment… but her voice died rather quickly and her mouth snapped shut. They were very poor planners. He'd turned at the same time as she had, but neither had thought to back away.

There was barely an inch between their noses. She could smell soap, and spice, and wood, and coffee, and her heart thundered in her ears. Their eyes met and a long moment passed as both recognized what had happened, and was happening. It was too close. She saw his eyes flick down to her lips, and flushed slightly as she realized her own gaze had done the same. The laughter that had rung in the air was replaced with a dead silence, and she could barely even think to put into words what was racing through her mind. It was a roiling mass of urgent need to run, to stay, to escape, to push forward, to fight, to surrender, to speak, to stay silent. Slowly, little by little, they moved to close that gap, to stop fighting whatever it was that was pulling them together…

Ishmael barked from outside the door. Nick jumped, and let out a little yelp, and proceeded to fall backwards off the side of the boat. Jim reached out and tried to catch her, her elbow slipping through his fingers as she hit the ground despite his effort. There was a thud, and a whoosh of breath, and then a moment of silence eventually broken by a groan. He was relieved to hear that the groan was more annoyed than pained, and a small smirk twisted on his face.

"What are you laughing at?" she demanded, her voice slightly breathless as the wind had been knocked out of her. He offered her a hand up and she accepted, getting gingerly to her feet.

"Nothing. Just… that was kind of funny…" he admitted.

She shook her head and rubbed at her backside. "Why do I feel like that's not the first time I've landed like that?" she murmured. This only caused Jim's grin to become a snicker.

"You fell on your butt when you had the nightmare. You fell out of your hammock, remember? So this is the second time in two days…"

"I'll not sit for a week," she griped, taking a deep breath. "Why is it always me that gets beat up?"

He sobered at that. "I dunno. You're clumsier than I am. Or maybe you just have worse luck?"

"_I_ could have told you that," she said dryly. Then she sighed. "Is the boat done?"

"I've gotta put the cover on, and then it'll be done. Hang on just a sec…" he ducked back down and quickly screwed the panel into place, then got to his feet and brushed off his pants. "We're good. Let's go get Ishmael before he sounds the alarm to the rest of the crew…"

She smiled softly to herself and glanced sidelong at him. Her thoughts flashed back to what had nearly happened, what Ishmael had interrupted… she felt a warm fizzle in her belly as she wondered what might have happened without the interruption. To be sure, this was the better choice. They couldn't afford to get into that kind of mess. It must just have been a moment of weakness… _though not the first one_, her pesky little mind-voice pointed out. That was the second time she'd been so close to kissing him. And she really couldn't begin to explain it—kissing had never held any appeal to her. The rowdy local boys had offered, as well as the drunks and tramps. It seemed a grand way to catch every disease that passed through port, but other than that she could think of no purpose to it. And she knew instinctively that saying yes to one of them would cost her the right to say no to the rest, and from there it would lead to many more things she couldn't stand to think of.

But with Jim… with Jim the thought made her heart pound, and her cheeks warm, and made her head all dizzy and curious and excited until she could think of no reason to say no. She knew better, and as soon as her head cleared she was scolding herself for even thinking of it… but that didn't keep her from wondering. Last time she'd thought about it, when she could have sworn she could see him thinking about it, he'd interrupted to point out that her head was bleeding. But this time… this time he'd clearly been thinking it again, and had done nothing to stop them… did he want to kiss her? She was nearly certain that she wanted to kiss him…

But then she mentally shook herself. This was absurd. She was a boy. She was Nick, the cabin boy, and he was Jim, the first mate, and such thoughts would only get them both into trouble. Trouble that could cost her a life in prison, and lose him everything he'd worked for in the Navy. She was being silly and selfish, and that had to end.

* * *

"I'll be back at midnight," he said, pulling on an overcoat.

"But you've never had night watch before," she pointed out, feeling foolish. She was genuinely curious, but it felt as though he'd see right through that to the fact that she simply hadn't spent a night alone in their room in all the months on the ship, and was rather unexpectedly anxious about it.

"We're closing in on a port. Pirates have been nearby. Pirates tend to linger around ports. So we're doubling the night watch," he explained, as though trying to teach her that the sky was blue, and the sun was hot.

"But… aren't you like, immune to watch?"

"What?"

"You never have watch duty."

"I do too. It's just during the day. You think I hang out on deck just to watch you work?" he teased.

She blushed furiously and he almost felt bad for the low blow. "Of course not," she said quickly. "To find an excuse to give me more chores, or to make me do them all over again. You're brutal," she informed him, pleased with the opportunity to turn it around on him.

It was his turn to flush faintly. "Not anymore. You do a better job now. Probably 'cause you don't want to do it twice."

"Whatever. Don't take credit for turning me into a proper cabin boy without taking credit for being hard on me," she said, sticking her tongue out at him. He stuck his out right back, feeling about twelve years old, and buttoned his coat to the chin.

"See ya later," he tossed over his shoulder, heading out onto the deck.

"Bye," she said softly, curling up in the hammock and tucking her knees to her chest, feeling oddly  
(but not unpleasantly) alone in the room. It was unusual for it to be so silent, but then again they hadn't really talked too much in the last week or so… the silence oughtn't to have bothered her. But she lay there thinking about it until it became a high pitched squeal in her ears, and then a soft rush, and then she heard nothing more, because she was asleep.

Jim, on the other hand, was wide awake. Wide awake and at the top of the crow's nest, staring out into space and not seeing a damned thing because he was too distracted. He really tried—there was a comet passing out to starboard, and he could just barely make out the distant spaceport and all the ships surrounding it, but nothing held his attention.

Actually, that was a lie. What held his attention was not what he wanted to have holding his thoughts captive, but there was little he could do to shake it. She was fixed in his mind's eye, just inches from his nose, clearly as willing and eager as he'd felt. He'd wanted to kiss her then. He didn't know that he regretted not doing so, but it had been such a close thing… so damn close. His heart had forgotten quite how to do its job properly at some point, and he'd practically been able to taste her, she was so damn close. He about lost his senses when she did that. He barely noticed she was a girl when she did her chores, or when she was being a stubborn little chit, or basically any time they were talking, laughing, teasing, or arguing. And he certainly hadn't thought much about her body until it had quite unexpectedly been in his arms—twice in the last day and night. Now he found he was thinking about it a bit more than he ought to be.

He jumped nearly out of his skin when the sound of boots on wood came from behind him, and he turned to find the tall, pale grease-monkey standing behind him—the one Nick had taken to hanging around recently. "I'm not off-duty till midnight," he said quickly, trying to dismiss him without saying so. He really didn't want to talk to this guy right now. Not that he'd rather return to his thoughts, but the inability to leave them entirely would make conversation difficult. Plus, he didn't know how he felt about Nick spending tons of time with the boys… there were a couple of things they were going to notice eventually. Being friendly he'd encouraged. Being friends he was wary of.

"Not here to relieve you," the other young man replied evenly, leaning back against the side of the crow's nest and folding his arms over his chest. "I just wanted to ask you something real fast."

"Something that has to be answered right now?" he asked, surprised by the insistence. He turned back and looked at him, sizing him up to decide whether or not direct confrontation might be more effective. But no—he was at ease. Nothing he'd said had been confrontational. And he hung out with Nick. The combination told Jim that this guy was probably imperturbable.

"Now's probably the best time," was the still-calm response.

"And why's that?" Jim asked, turning around himself and assuming a similar pose, except that where Moder seemed relaxed and almost cocky, Jim was clearly growing irritated and let it show in his demeanor.

"Because I need to ask you about the kid."

Jim's stomach rolled, and he felt the air tense between them. "What about him?" he asked, taking extra care to keep his pronouns straight.

"He's… an odd one, isn't he?" he prodded, clearly as hesitant to ask as Jim was to answer.

"What do you mean?"

"Have you noticed he isn't shaving?"

"How—"

"Or that his voice isn't changing?"

"He—"

"Or that he's shorter than Joche, and doesn't seem like to change that soon?"

Jim shut his mouth and decided to wait until Moder was finished. He really didn't like the way this was going. There was a burning sensation in his chest, and he straightened up to his full height. This boy had followed him all the way up to the crow's nest to throw suspicion on the cabin boy, who he claimed was his friend, and was insinuating that Jim knew and was covering for him. The fact that he was correct aside, he wasn't making a friend of Jim with the way he was going about it.

"You didn't notice any of that?" Moder finished, raising an eyebrow as he too drew himself up. The two found themselves eye to eye across the little space, neither moving to challenge the other, but neither making any move to back down.

"Of course I noticed."

"But you don't think there's anything strange about that?"

"Who's to say? Nick's not necessarily the same as you and me," Jim said, a little more gently than he felt like. But if he came on too forceful, he'd raise suspicions instead of lowering them…

"What do you mean?" he asked, faltering a bit.

"What do you know about Nick? Besides these things that you think he ought to live up to, and doesn't. What has he told you about himself?"

"Not much," he admitted with a shrug. "Street rat from the spaceport. That's about it."

"Street rat. Orphan. Bastard," Jim clarified, the word bitter and heavy in his mouth. Using it about Nick made him feel ill, as though he was perpetuating everything he had been trying to help her escape. But if it could help him hide her… "Go ahead and try and ask him about his father. I dare you. He won't be able to tell you. Better yet, try and ask him if he's a mutt," Without intending to, Jim sounded tired and almost hurt—as though his own attempts to ask had ended badly. Really though, he felt the truth of his words resonating in his own mind. Everything he said was true—not even Nick knew for certain that she was a hundred percent human.

"I didn't—" he began, but Jim cut him off.

"You can't expect him to live up to what you expect of a human fifteen-year-old, especially if even he doesn't know for sure that he is one."

Moder might possibly have paled at that moment, were it possible for him to get any whiter. "I'm sorry," he said, with some difficulty. Though it seemed to Jim that he felt sorrier that he was being dismissed than because he might have caused trouble for Nick. "I just assumed, because he looks so normal…"

"You should know better," Jim said, his steely expression letting Moder know that he meant what he said. Moder caught his insinuation and blushed a little.

"That was different. I had nothing to do with that. I'm loyal to the Empire, and you know it."

"I do. But we thought they were loyal too, and we lost the Hallicroft because of it. You almost lost your position, didn't you? Because you look like them?" He was walking the fine line between illustration and accusation, and aware that this could end badly…

But Moder nodded. "I see your point, I think," he said simply, turning to leave the crow's nest. Jim was left alone with his thoughts again, in even more turmoil than before. He'd lied to his crewmate, manipulated the conversation to shame him into submission, and then preached about being open to others. None of the above sat well with him, but when he thought about the alternative, he had to admit that he'd take this unease rather than see Moder reveal Nick to the crew.

The rest of his watch went by quickly, though he had did a poor job of watching. Luckily it was a calm, clear night, with little chance of ambush or difficulty. When Adamson came to relieve him at midnight, he shuffled away without much acknowledgement, until Adamson suddenly broke the silence. "D'you think the cabin boy ought to learn to throw a knife? I'm wary of arming that temper."

He stopped, turning back in surprise. "He's not so bad anymore. Hasn't been in a fight for months, and does what he's asked. I can't say I disagree, but I don't see the harm in it. And he'd be a good student."

Adamson nodded. "Thanks." Then there was a pause. "Don't tell him yet."

Jim grinned faintly. "I won't."

He climbed carefully down the rigging, making his way back to their room without running into anyone else. However, it turned out that he needn't have worried as much about what lay outside the room as what lay within. When he opened the door, he half-wished he'd had the full graveyard shift…

Nick lay curled on her side in her hammock, looking very small and cozy. She was wrapped around her pillow, hugging it tightly, and her legs were tucked up to her stomach. The blanket trailed on the floor, clearly unnecessary, and as he closed the door behind himself she settled in her sleep and sighed. He felt his stomach drop a little as he looked on, and realized just how far gone he was. This had to end now. If he'd actually kissed her this afternoon, he could have gotten her caught. And if he kept being distracted by her, he could get people killed. It was time to end this silly infatuation, and have done with it.

He went over and stood beside the bed, debating whether to wake her up and tell her his decision, but then he realized he'd been standing there for a little while… he had never noticed before that she looked different when she was asleep. Peaceful. Almost innocent. There was something promising about her expression—like this was the Nick she could have been, if she hadn't had to toughen up so early. His fingers reached out automatically and brushed a little hair back from her forehead. His gaze followed her profile, noticing again the freckles splashed over her nose and the dark eyelashes… she was such a girl. He would never stop feeling stupid for not noticing right away. Now it felt like he couldn't help but notice.

He straightened up a bit, taking in a deep breath and settling himself. Done. It had to be over. He had to reset his mind. _Damnit…_ if she hadn't broken the stupid law, they wouldn't be in this mess. If she had been anyone else, anywhere else, he wouldn't be trying to avoid what he was thinking and feeling. But if she hadn't broken the law, they might never have met. If she'd been anyone else, anywhere else, things might not have happened the way they did.

He straightened fully and stepped back. What-ifs would get him nowhere. He needed to act on what was, and that meant backing off. That meant pretending nothing at all had changed since the day he found out. That meant treating her like he would any other cabin boy.

That meant pretending he wasn't falling for her.

_Chapter title taken from "Hanging By a Moment" © Lifehouse_


	18. Chapter 15: COMPLETELY INCOMPLETE Part 1

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: **

"I'm sorry sir," the shopkeeper said, wringing his cloth cap in his hands. "I wish there were more I could do for you, but we were ransacked. Everything broken, or stolen, or buried under the debris. We're only just now able to get around in here, much less get our work done. If you'd been here a week ago…" he said, but then he trailed off. Jim knew he was letting them finish the sentence for him. If they'd come just a few days ago, they could have stopped the pirates from terrorizing the port.

The captain sighed heavily. "I know. And you have my deepest apologies that we were too late to help. But that storm had us at half-speed for days and we're now a week behind schedule as well. Is there any chance that you can spare a few men to come down and work on the ship? We won't require you to use your shop—you can have free reign of the space on the ship. It should be enough. And I'll supply my own men and tools where needed."

"I need my men tonight. Will first light be soon enough?"

The captain nodded briskly. "That will be well enough. Thank you kindly, sir. We'll be sure you're well compensated."

The sailmaker gave a deep nod, grateful for the work as well as the understanding. "I thank you as well. We'll be at your ship just past dawn."

"See you then." The captain, first mate, and coxswain exited the shop, looking around at the mess of a town. The pirates had been absurdly destructive, almost as though they'd ransacked for the sake of causing as much damage as possible. Some shops were burned out shells, some had no windows left, and still others had their entire stock of wares littering the street in front. Jim felt slightly sick as he looked about at the livelihoods strewn about on the cobblestones. He made a mental note to buy his customary presents here. They needed the help.

Adamson sighed and shook his head. "We were so close. We might even have passed them in that storm, and never known."

The captain kept his face unaffected. "Well, we may need to ask around. If anyone saw the ship that attacked, or can give us names, that would be highly useful. If there's more than one band of pirates on the lam, we have trouble ahead."

Jim nodded. He knew there would be no good answer to their inquiries. A second band of pirates would be more trouble, but if the names they received were "Archer" and "The Concorde", then they had a particularly violent and strong pirate band in close proximity to the Crown Duchess of the Empire. Neither was a good situation to have to deal with.

With a few half-hearted salutes and deep nods, the three men parted company. Jim headed for the ship, to give this report to the men who would be working on the sails and rudder. Now it was looking like they had to get the mechanical work done today, and the sails done tomorrow, and hopefully be able to launch the following morning. He sighed and shook his head a little. They were so close to the edge of Myamin territory. So close, and yet so far… there was so much to get done in the next few days, and so much more distance to cover before they could call this mission a success. And then there was the journey home. Jim had decided in the middle of his first year that the trip home from any given mission was the absolute worst part. If only every journey could end with a portal-jump… that way they could avoid the adrenaline drop, the boredom, the homesickness, the tediousness…

He sighed again and looked out at the town. Just a bit more, and then he could turn around and go home. It was starting to seem like the return trip would be a welcome change of pace. He missed home, as boring and quiet as it was. Boring and quiet was sounding better every day.

As far as Nick was concerned, the captain's "day or so in port" were up this morning, but here they were. Men from the town had been coming every morning for two days now, and working till dark, and there was no indication that they were remotely sky-ready.

Her boots were braced on the wood of the ship's side, and her back was cradled by the thick ropes of the shroud as she leaned back, looking out at the town. Even from here she could see the damages, the smashed windows and the scorch marks on the cobblestones. Her arms were hooked through the ropes in case some wise-ass decided to try to push her toward the edge, and she played with the little knife, turning it end over end in her hands. Those damn pirates… she remembered their terrifying raids on the dark side of Crescentia, the side where the police patrolled when they pleased and turned their backs on all the sins committed in the streets. Most of the time they'd left her home tavern alone, but she'd had to help clean up after more than one attack and had a very poor opinion of most pirates. Silver was somehow becoming her exception—he seemed disinterested in blood for blood's sake, unlike the pirates who'd attacked this town.

This town had suffered, and she could only imagine how much. There wasn't much she could do to help them, but she could at least do a little. She had two strong arms and a sturdy back, and they needed young men to clear the debris. She'd go out that afternoon with her little bit of shore leave and do what she could. Hopefully no one there would have any questions for her, and she'd be able to keep up her guise.

She reached up and grabbed a rope just above her head, rolling off the shroud and swinging down to the deck, landing with a thump and stuffing the little knife in her boot. She couldn't forget to practice her throwing later, so that Adamson would deign to teach her a little more than before. It irritated her, but she saw the logic in his tests. If she couldn't perform, she didn't learn more. It kept her from getting too big for her britches, and it kept her practicing. She didn't think she was doing too badly for just under a week of lessons.

As soon as she neared the crowd, heading for Moder and Joche, she was knocked aside by the selfsame wise-ass she'd been trying to thwart earlier. "Di'nt see you there!" he said brightly, taking the opportunity to give her a "friendly" punch in the shoulder. "Maybe y'oughta try bein' tall enough so's I don't look straight over your head," he offered.

"My height has nothing to do with you being an idiot, Piers," she spat back, earning herself a derisive laugh and another whack between the shoulder blades.

"Well, much as I'd like to test that theory, you're still only yea big, and it's still my job t' toughen you up," he informed her. The instant he realized that the first mate was no longer keeping close eye on the cabin boy, and that the cabin boy seemed no more a man than when he'd gotten on the ship, Piers had named himself Nick's new tormentor. Much as she protested, he remained undeterred. Joche and Moder did what they could, but they had no power to make him do anything. On top of the fact that she hardly saw Jim anymore, this was certainly not welcome attention.

But just then, the shadow he had been casting over her jerked back, and she looked up in surprise. Moder had Piers by one horn, pulling him back against his shoulder in a pseudo-headlock. "Hello there, my friend," he said, dripping with sarcasm. "What was this I overheard? I suppose that since I'm taller still, it's my job to make a man out of you?" he asked. "I don't know that I have the time or the patience…"

Piers' expression was pure poison. Nick looked between the two of them, rather dumbstruck by this sort of action from Moder. Tall he might have been, but in a true fight he wouldn't have stood a chance against Piers, and all three of them knew it. It was surprise and cunning that had won him this edge.

"Not what I meant," Piers growled, "and you know it."

Moder released him, pushing him away harshly. "Leave it, Piers. It's not your job any more than it's mine." And with that the conversation ended abruptly, with Piers skulking off and Nick sticking to Moder's side.

"Thank you," she said, somewhat hesitantly. It was possible that a thank you would only irritate him, but she had to take the chance.

"Didn't do it for you," he said, not surprising her one bit. "That kid needs to shape up. He's got issues. And don't think I'm going to do it again, either," he said, looking down at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Of course not."

When she returned her attention to the crowd, she saw that Alanna was making her way across the deck, Monteblanc in tow and the captain beside her. "May I request that you wait until Hawkins returns? He's seeing a merchant about restocking our supplies, he won't be but another hour…" the captain asked.

"No, I think we shall be just fine. Isn't that right?" she asked the mountain standing beside her. He gave a slow nod that could just as easily have been sinister as it was agreeable.

It was the first time Nick had ever really realized the captain was unsettled. She watched as he looked between the princess and her bodyguard—one intimidating physically, the other for the strength of her will—and his mouth hung slightly open as he grasped for something. But they'd been trapped in port for two days already, in addition to two days of travel since the end of the storm, and he couldn't keep her prisoner on the ship any longer. Other voices were raised across the ship, shouting orders, asking for his opinion on the repairs, disagreeing, catcalling, antagonizing…

"Fine. Please return to the ship by nightfall. And don't lose _this_ guard?" he pleaded, giving the hulking man another quick glance.

The princess smiled as though he'd granted her request instead of surrendering to it. "Thank you, my good man. And speaking of guards," she said lightly, looking around. "Cabin boy! To me, please!" she cried.

Nick rolled her eyes and trotted forth, feeling very much like Ishmael answering to his whistle. But when she looked down at the dog that had materialized at her side, she realized it didn't bother him nearly so much.

The captain raised a questioning eyebrow. "Your Highness, I don't—"

"I plan to shop. I need someone to carry my things," she explained before turning and heading down the gangplank. Monteblanc lumbered after her, and Nick followed after him… but she had to turn back around and scan the crowd. No sign of Jim… she wondered if she ought to let someone know to tell him where she'd gone. But then she realized with a sinking stomach that he probably wouldn't notice. They hadn't seen much of each other recently, and she'd probably be back before he even thought to ask after her…

"Dog stays," came a sudden, startling rumble far above her head. Nick looked up, utterly confused by the command.

"He can't come in the shops," Alanna added. Nick frowned, and looked down at the dog. He whimpered a little and wagged his tail, looking up at the faces in confusion. Nick knelt beside him, and scratched his ear.

"You gotta stay here and keep an eye on the ship for me, okay?" she said under her breath, so no one would hear her. "Keep track of Sil—the cook, and keep the boys out of trouble…"

He looked sad, but he went off down to the galley obediently. Nick shook her head a little—who knew whether or not he actually understood her? He seemed to, but that might just be coincidence.

"Ready now?" Alanna asked brightly.

Jim trudged back to the ship, his head aching a little. There was a scene that kept replaying in his head, a memory of his mother. They were on their backs under the sink, looking up into a mess of dripping pipes and wondering how they were going to fix it this time. He could hear her voice in his memory… she'd gotten to her feet, pushing her hair back from her face and shaking her head. "It's like trying to fill a black hole…" she muttered.

He was beginning to think that the R.L.S. Galaxy was in the same shape as the old Benbow Inn. Every time they went to fix something, they found a new problem. The sails were in bad shape, the wiring was wearing out, the structural integrity of the masts was questionable, and the town could barely supply the men and materials needed for the repairs even after the captain had cobbled together the funds. They'd already passed their deadline of two days, and they were nowhere near ready for launch. It was looking like it would hit closer to four or five days before they could get out of here.

He didn't know if his patience could handle a week stuck in port, but then again he knew that he was going to have an even harder time of things once they were cooped up on the ship again. His vow to keep his distance from his roommate was grating on him. He hadn't realized there was no one else to talk to, no one else to laugh with, no one else to complain to and get into mock-fights with… He didn't even have Morph anymore—the little blob had taken his place on Silver's shoulder and rarely wandered anymore. It was almost as though he feared Silver would leave him again… Jim sighed and stared at the ground as he kept going. He had to do this—if he let them keep going, if he led her on any further, they were going to get caught. He couldn't let that happen. And the only way he could think to discourage both of them was to pretend he wasn't interested in being anything more than the first mate.

To make matters worse, he'd talked to several townspeople who had confirmed their suspicions about the pirates. The folk who had caught sight of the attacking ship all agreed that the name scrawled on the side had been 'The Concorde', and that several had heard a man in their midst called 'Archer' by the others. It seemed they were dealing with only one pirate band, but a fearless and bloodthirsty one at that…

It hadn't occurred to Jim that walking through a town with his head down and his hands in his pockets might cost him a bit of peripheral vision, or more like most of his vision, and so it wasn't until he'd nearly collided with The Mountain (as he called him) that he realized he'd run into Alanna and company.

And he regretted it immediately when he saw that "and company" meant Nick.

"Why hello there," Alanna said, her voice irritatingly cheerful as she grinned at him. Perhaps he was growing paranoid as his patience wore out, but she seemed to have that certain sparkle in her eye that made him fear she was going to make trouble for him…

"Hullo, princess," he said in a low voice, tipping his head to her. "Lovely to see you."

"Walk with me, sir," came the lilting command, and Alanna seized Jim's arm and slipped her own through it, pulling him down the street at her side. There was nothing he could do now. So he gave her a little resigned smile, and did his best to seem amenable. He was just going to have to try to keep from letting himself slip out of First-Mate mode.

Nick watched from her spot just behind Monteblanc, and felt her stomach attempt secession from her abdomen. She wouldn't have thought he'd even registered her presence from the way he looked at her—his eyes almost passed her by entirely. But she knew he hadn't slipped past her, because their eyes had locked for a moment. And the utter lack of expression on his face was awful.

She glanced to the side to get away from the twisting in her stomach, but found herself face-to-face with a freckled, skinny, messy-haired boy. It took the space of several heartbeats for her to realize she was looking in a shop window. The boy was her reflection. She slowed a little, studying the reflection she hadn't seen in a few months. She'd gained some weight. Her face had changed a little—growing slightly softer at the same time as it had thinned. Her cheekbones were different, her jaw less sharp. She looked less like a boy than she had at first, but she was certainly not feminine. Her hair had grown out long enough to be recognizably wavy, and her freckles were worse after months in the sun than they'd ever been.

What had she been _thinking_? That she could ever have let herself imagine that he would see her as anything but a boy, anything but a _cabin boy_, was utterly ridiculous! She would always just be Nick. The girl who passed as a boy, without anyone suspecting otherwise. Truly, there was something to be said for the fact that in every case, she'd been revealed through some error on her part. No one had ever asked questions, acted strangely…

Alanna also glanced over her shoulder, ostensibly to ensure that her packages were keeping up, but she saw Nick's expression. She turned back to face the row of shops, and selected the one with the largest empty space where the front window had once been. "Mr. Hawkins, would you care to accompany me into another shop?" she asked in her I'm-not-asking voice.

"My pleasure," he returned, wishing fervently that she would just let him go. He didn't really feel like standing idly around the shop when there was so much work left to do on the ship, and so much more paperwork to be handled after talking to all the townsfolk…

They walked into the shop through a door that was void of all glass, and a bell tinkled above their heads. Nick set the packages down just inside the door, careful of the glass strewn all over the floor, and looked around at the mess. Alanna was speaking to the shop owner, introducing Jim as well, and Nick noticed the squat bald man was deathly pale with mortification. His shop was in tatters, and _now_ the Crown Duchess decides to drop by for a visit? But Alanna soothed him with a few compliments and reassurances of her understanding of the situation. She looked at the few pieces he had left, and ooohed and aaaahed until the man was no longer white but quite pink.

"Did you design these?" she asked, looking over a particular collection (or the remains of it).

"I did… there was a piece in the center that… well, if you'll pardon me, I have a sketch still. It cost a fortune to put together… I don't know how…" but then he trailed off and looked like he'd swallowed a bug. "Pardon me," he added quickly, racing off to the back room.

Nick wandered up and looked around the room. The glass covered the floor, sparkling and glinting in the sunlight that streamed in through the broken windows. But then she bent, looking closer…

"Why haven't they swept the glass up?" Jim wondered aloud to the princess, wincing at the _graunch_ under his feet as he shifted.

"Well, I'm certain he didn't know I was coming," she said softly back.

"Or it's because there are still diamonds on the floor," Nick chimed in, holding up a tiny, clear diamond for inspection. It was of a modest size, but exquisitely cut and clearly worth something. Unfortunately for her, that was when the shop owner came back out.

"Oh, please don't!" he cried, rushing up to her. "I know it's a mess, and I beg forgiveness from your majesty, but I… would hate to burden you," he added swiftly, plucked the diamond from her hand and stowed it in his apron, eyeing her carefully. She turned red and stepped back against the wall beside the packages, trying to pretend everyone wasn't looking at her. "Majesty," he said brightly, regaining their attention, "please, have a seat here. I promise, this area is glass-free," he added with a humorless chuckle, leading her to a nice desk and tall chair where he showed her the design he'd been talking about.

"Mr. Morgan," she said, shooting Nick a faintly wicked smile. "Good work. I may be a while with Mr. Saltz, but keep an eye out. I've always been partial to emeralds…" she added with a wink.

Nick nodded, looking away almost shyly. She wasn't going to look for any more diamonds, not the way he'd treated her. But she had been pleased to hear that Alanna knew she hadn't been stealing, and was slightly gratified to see the jeweler's expression at Alanna's 'joke'. He needed to tread lightly with her friends as well, if he wanted her business.

It was a long wait as they discussed the piece he was showing her, and she exclaimed over it, and they cobbled together something that she seemed rather pleased with. She rose and they shook hands, settled that he would deliver the piece to the Myamin palace in time for the coronation and she went to the door. "Oh, and while we're here… I would like very much to leave you two of my trusted associates to handle this mess. Consider it a… gift of gratitude. You will not find two more trustworthy helpers to search out your diamonds," she said. Jim shifted slightly, figuring Nick and Monteblanc would stick around, and he'd be left to escort the princess. Nick looked up, knowing she'd be left, and praying that Monteblanc would be her comrade.

"Mr. Morgan? Mr. Hawkins? Would you be so kind as to assist Mr. Saltz? You are on leave until watch change at 8," she said in that irritatingly cheerful voice. "That would be…?"

"Last dog watch," Jim and Nick supplied in unison. Then they both looked embarrassed that they'd done so.

Alanna merely smirked and nodded, and the bell over the door tinkled and the princess, the bodyguard, and the packages disappeared. Both stared at the floor, feeling unwanted and out of place.

The jeweler looked between them, as unhappy as they were with the princess's "gift". "Well… if you're going to help… go on, I suppose. I have work to be doing." With that said, he settled in behind the desk. Jim noticed that he watched them quite carefully, though he pretended not to.

Beside him, Nick gave a little sigh and squatted down, picking through the debris with deft fingers. It looked almost as though she was unafraid of the glass, the way she ran her hands over the floor… he was not going to be so lucky. He and glass had never been friends…

He noticed that she quickly had a small handful of tiny diamonds, plucked from the glass with hands that apparently hadn't forgotten the art of delicacy, despite the tasks he'd set for her in the past months. He watched her for a moment, pausing in his own work, and let himself be distracted by the little frown of concentration on her face, the way she bit her lower lip… and he jumped a little when she yanked her hand back from the glass to inspect a fingertip. She glared at it, and picked a little glass from her skin before wiping the tiny spot of blood off on the knee of her pants and getting back to it. He shook his head a little, and got back to the task at hand, shutting his mind to those thoughts. And not a moment too soon…

"So," she said, breaking the silence and startling him. "How have you been? I haven't seen you around much," she added softly.

"I'm fine," he said, politely indifferent. "You?"

She looked over at him, surprised and cautious. "I'm fine. How are the repairs coming along?" she asked, trying again.

"Slowly, as I'm sure you've noticed."

There it was again. He was there, but he wasn't _there._

Jim suddenly swore and looked at his thumb, where a shallow slice had opened beside the nail. Further inspection showed that it wasn't bleeding, but it hurt like a… well, he didn't bother censoring the curses in his mind, but no more crossed his lips. They passed another long stretch in silence before Nick got to her feet, marching over the crunching glass and slapping her hand down on the jeweler's desk. Jim hadn't seen her handful, but he looked up in time to see the man's face.

His eyes grew wide, and Nick smirked faintly in satisfaction. "I'm done. There aren't any more. Thank you for allowing me and my… the officer to extend Her Majesty's gratitude." She gave him a little bow and turned.

"Wait!" he said, stumbling to his feet. "These were… to think I nearly swept this morning…" he muttered, wringing his hands. "These… these are worth more than the Navy could possibly be paying you, princess or no. Thank you for… hang on, just one moment," he said, and he turned around and disappeared into the back again. It was a long, silent moment as Jim got to his feet and laid his handful beside Nick's. He was surprised by how many they'd found together, though she had clearly outdone him. The jeweler came back out with his two fists extended to them. Into Nick's palm he laid a small, blackwood-handled knife. It was sleek and slim, though jewel-less, and when she pulled it from the black leather sheath it gleamed wickedly sharp. "It's not much, but it ought to come in handy. Especially with the town on edge as it is…" he muttered, trailing off.

"Thank you sir," she said, her expression unreadable as she gave him another little bow and tucked the knife and sheath into her boot. "I appreciate your generosity."

He nodded to her and turned to Jim. "I figured you already have a small arsenal, but perhaps something for the girl back home?" he asked, holding out his other hand to offer a fine, glittering chain, long and thin, beautifully strong and simple. He looked up in surprise at the man, unsure of how to respond. He gave him a weak smile and a nod, but his quiet "thank you" was drowned out by the tinkle of the bell above the door. He turned to look, but realized no one had entered. Rather, someone had left… someone who was now walking briskly down the road to get as far from him as possible.


	19. Chapter 15: COMPLETELY INCOMPLETE Part 2

Nick walked in a sort of daze, not really managing to watch where she was going. She was too immersed in her thoughts. What had happened? Suddenly Jim wanted less to do with her than the first day she'd been thrust into his care. Where had she gone so terribly wrong? It felt like she was speaking to a stranger, when only last week they'd been so close… admittedly closer than they probably had any right to be, all things considered. She pushed down the ache in her chest and took a deep breath, holding onto that thought for a moment longer. They'd had no right to act like that—and she especially hadn't had the right to ask that of him. If he'd snapped to his senses, then it was about damn time she did too… no matter that she hated thinking of him as merely her commanding officer.

She ducked into a little side street for a moment, shut her eyes and did a quick mental sort, taking the thoughts and memories that she attributed with the Jim she'd come to know so well and pushed them aside. Starting with his laugh, the way he rubbed his chin when he thought hard, the sound of his boots when he tiptoed in after watch and tried not to wake her, the scent of his shirt—soap, and spice, and wood, and coffee—the way his hands were so strong and capable when he worked on a longboat, and so gentle and careful when he checked the wound on her head... she grabbed all those flighty little thoughts and pushed them to the back of her mind, shutting them in the little closet in her mind where that ornery little voice still whispered from time to time. Jim-the-first-mate stayed: the respect he earned from the men, even though he was younger than most of them, the difference in him when he was on the ship, as though he was born to sail. The frown that told her she didn't do the job quite the way he wanted it—and the grin she earned when she did it again right—the frustrated sound he made in the back of his throat when he couldn't find her on the ship (but he still never used the whistle), the barking voice he used to issue orders—and the way he said her name, making it sound like hers and not just the cabin boy's…

She opened her eyes with a start, pushing away even those thoughts about first-mate Jim. It had worked for her in the past, sorting out useless emotion from facts, but this time seemed to take a lot more effort. She finally shut down the whole thing, pushing Jim in his entirety to the back of her mind and slamming the door on him. She would obviously need to devote a little more time to forgetting him, when she wasn't distracted.

She began walking again, and picked up the pace as though she could walk it off, shake it off, leave it behind.

When Jim left the jeweler's shop, he briefly searched the local area for any sign of her. He wasn't sure what had made her flee, and he didn't honestly know what he might have said or done if he'd run into her, but neither mattered in the least because he couldn't seem to find her anywhere. He gave up when it became clear that he was looking hard enough to need to explain himself if they crossed paths. There was no way she was going to believe that he was "just passing through" behind the tavern that looked like it had been closed for a decade…

He was unhappy in general as he headed back to the shops, figuring she'd either gone back to the ship or found somewhere to hide out for the rest of her free time. He hated that he missed having her beside him, but he kept remembering the last time they'd been free to roam a port together, on Niamath, when they'd run their errands and eaten lunch from the sidewalk stand, and she'd rescued Ishmael and he'd had to save her butt again. Funny how that had become a fond memory in light of the situation he currently found himself in. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, then rubbed the back of his head, trying not to think about her. It didn't work. He went into the first shop, and when he stuffed his hands into his pockets his fingers closed around the chain the jeweler had given him. He drew it out and examined it, the man's words echoing in his head.

There was no girl at home. There had been a couple of girls, a couple of times, but no one that was waiting at the window to see him walking up the front path. One of them had been married to someone else when he left, and two or three others had moved on to officers that weren't so married to their jobs that they couldn't be bothered to marry anyone else..

He sighed heavily and closed his hand, stuffing the necklace back in his pocket. He wished he'd met Nick back home. So she could be waiting for him there, safely tucked away on his middle-of-nowhere home planet, and waiting for him. Instead, she was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to go wrong, for him to push her away… again.

He was sick of this. He was juggling too many things right now. The ship, the mission, the princess, Archer, the crew, the repairs… the cabin boy… He couldn't keep it all in the air. He just… needed to check out for an hour or two. Clear his head. Do something that he actually _wanted_ to be doing, for once. His once-perfect job was a chore right now, and his life was being turned upside down. He felt out of control, restless, frustrated… He wanted to go surfing, or running, just to be _doing_ something…

Running away wasn't an option. Neither was surfing. He had to report back to the ship soon. He had no time, no freedom, no real choice in the matter. It was going to eat him alive if he didn't do _something_.

She wanted out of his way. She stood in their room, contemplating the quick task of throwing her meager belongings back into her knapsack, unhooking and folding up her hammock to put it back in the closet... She was done pretending they could get along, done pretending it didn't hurt when he brushed her off. She got along better with the crew now than Jim, so she might as well move right back into the hold with them rather than put him to any more trouble. Her hands only shook a little as she grabbed her thin blanket and folded it, gathered her spare set of clothes and crammed them into her bag, and her heart was in her throat as she fought to keep her cool. It was the only rational solution, but she felt absolutely irrational as she raced to finish packing and get out of there before he came back. She wanted to handle it on her own, and let it go unspoken… the prospect of having to explain any of it to him was mortifying. "Oh, I'm just getting out of your way, since you clearly can barely stomach the sight of me. Ta now, I'll see you around. Or not."

She groaned and ran a shaky hand through her hair, wincing as it caught in the tangles. She really needed to cut her hair again. But that wasn't a priority right now. For now she needed to pack up, and get out, and move on. She picked up her pillow to fling it onto the pile, and something fell with a loud thunk to the floor and rolled under his bunk. Heart pounding from the startling sound, she knelt to retrieve it, her hand blindly grasping for a few seconds before closing around cool metal. The map.

She withdrew it, holding the sphere in her hand for a long, dizzy moment. He'd tried to earn her trust with this secret, give her something of his to hold onto to put them on an even footing. Why would he have done that if he didn't want anything to do with her? What had changed?

She sighed and felt her chest tighten as she looked at it. The map couldn't go with her. It wasn't hers to take, and she hoped that by leaving it she could send the same you-keep-my-secret, I'll-keep-yours message. The tight feeling in her chest became nearly panicky as she thought of the fact that she'd be leaving her secret, her **life**, in the hands of that man… she should never have trusted him in the first place…

Nick looked down at the sphere for another moment, then raised her hand to lob it at his bed, frustrated and upset and looking to take it out on inanimate objects. But a much larger hand closed over hers, stopping her halfway and making her freeze in place.

"What are you doing?" he asked, rather calmly. He was proud of how calm he sounded. It had taken some doing.

It would be funny to him later, but at the moment his heart sank as she drew herself up to her full and unintimidating height, pulling on her fighting face. "I'm moving out. Saving you the trouble of throwing me out."

"I wasn't gon—" he began, but she'd already turned and was slinging her bag over her shoulder, picking up her blanket and stuffing the map into her pocket. "Nick, I wasn't gonna throw you out!" he insisted.

"Stop it. I'm going to move back into the hold. I get along with the crew now, there's no need for a babysitter. I'm… I'm done with this," she said, her voice dropping as she lowered her head to try to push past him. She pulled the door open, but it stopped jarringly short, only open an inch or two. She tugged on it again, but flushed with embarrassment when she looked down and his foot was blocking it. "Jim!" she snapped, voice dangerously low, whirling to face him. "Stop it! I'm done putting up with your shit! Let me go!"

"What the hell are you doing?" he whispered back, a big hand slamming the door next to her head and shutting it the rest of the way.

"Oh, don't give me this," she whispered, dropping her blanket to try to wrestle the door open. "You haven't spoken to me in a week and you pick _now_ to act like I'm being irrational?"

"You… I…" he stumbled, keeping the door closed despite her efforts. His argument turned to ash in his mouth. "What are you trying to do?"

"Move out!" she hissed. "Get out of your way! Stop having to put up with you!"

"I'm sorry!" he whispered back, trying to get her to calm down. "I'm sorry, okay?"

"No, it's not okay!" she insisted in a fierce whisper, "It's the opposite of okay! I'm undoing what should never have been done in the first place! I don't belong on this ship, and I damn well don't belong in your room. I've... made a mess, and now I want to clean it up. I'm done being a pain in your ass, and putting up with you being a pain in my ass."

He blinked, startled, and stared down into her face for a long moment. This was it. He could let her go. It would be easy. Step aside, let her tear off down the hall, shut the door behind her and wash his hands of the whole thing. They'd get over it after a few days or weeks. It was just an infatuation. He should let her go, let them both go their separate ways...

He pulled his hand down from the door, but before she could pull it open again he'd rounded on her. She stepped back, looking up at him as he moved in closer. She felt a little twinge of fear… he was intimidating, and she'd never thought he'd be the type to get aggressive when he was upset, but she'd take him on. He wouldn't hit her, and she could handle intimidation…

But she couldn't have predicted what happened next. He had lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers, backing her against the wall, making her heart thunder in her ears and her chest constrict until she couldn't breathe…

And then it was over, and she stood frozen, hands shaking, hardly breathing, staring up at him and meeting those icy blue eyes. Damn him, he didn't even seem affected. She was frozen in place, her mind still trying to catch up with what her pounding blood had already figured out.

"Jim… what the hell?" she breathed, hardly able to keep the quaver out of her voice.

He flushed faintly and looked away. "You can go now. If you want. I just had to… speak my mind."

She looked almost comically torn between punching him in the chest and tearing from the room, her eyes still wide with shock as she tried to decide which one. He was rather disappointed that she didn't seem at all inclined to kiss him back.

She put both hands on his chest and shoved him back, angry tears springing to her eyes. "How could you do that to me?" she asked, not in the furious cry that he'd braced himself for, but in a soft, pained voice that caught in her throat.

"Do it… _to _you?" he asked incredulously. "It's not like I punched you, Nick!"

"I wish you had," she spat, grabbing her bag and pushing past him through the door, down the hall, and out of sight.


	20. Chapter 16: FORGET WHAT WE'RE TOLD

**CHAPTER 16: FORGET WHAT WE'RE TOLD**

Silver stood with his back to the door, but the shuffle of angry feet in too-large boots was as familiar to him as anything else in this kitchen.

"What's got yer knickers in a twist?" he rumbled, smiling to himself as Nick settled herself at the table by the door, ready to exit at the drop of a hat.

"Nothing," she said weakly, and Ishmael sighed at her side. _Liar_, he seemed to say, and Silver gave a slight nod. Not surprising. But when he turned around, he had to admit he found himself surprised.

"Th' devil's this? Yeh movin' int' th' kitchen?" he asked, his good eye widening as it took in the bags at her feet.

She shook her head before dropping it to the table with a thud. Her voice was muffled by the arms she wrapped around her head, but he could just make out something about "three sheets to the wind".

"Ah dunno whut ails yeh, but I can't be th' one lettin' th' cabin boy get roarin' drunk, lad. Yeh're on yer own, and I'll bet yer boot ye won't find a soul aboard tha's willin' t' help yeh out," he shrugged.

She groaned softly, somehow curling up tighter and shrinking away until he was sure she was trying to force herself to become part of the table and disappear entirely. "Ah'm gonna regret this," he growled, wiping his hands on a towel before setting himself down on the bench across from her. "What's eatin' yeh, lass?" he asked.

The back of her head wobbled in something he supposed was intended to be a negative shake, but she didn't say anything more.

He slammed the table with his meaty hand, jarring her upright. "Tha's better," he said, folding his arms and leaning forward. "Now, let's try again, whatsay?"

She sighed and ran a hand over her face. "It's nothing to talk about. I'm gonna move down to the galley with the crew. There's no point in me being up with Jim. It's just making trouble," she said quickly, sounding both rehearsed and unconvinced.

He nodded a bit. "Good on yeh. Gettin' outta there's gonna be good fer th' two o' yeh."

She looked surprised. "I-I'm glad you agree…" she said after a moment.

"Aye… though how yeh plan t' keep yerself outta sight in a galley fulla men that'll be watchin' yeh like a mouse as's been dropped among the cats. Best of luck t'ye in yer endeavors," he drawled, watching her turn grey as her already somewhat sour victory turned to ashes.

Silence reigned for a few more long moments before she uttered a string of profanity that would make any sailor proud, nearly knocked the bench over backwards in her hasty rise to her feet, and slammed her bag against the doorframe on her way out. Silver grinned to himself a little, pleased by the small victory.

He was getting too old for this nonsense.

Jim sat down heavily on his bunk, staring across at the wall opposite, wondering what the hell he'd been thinking. That was so stupid. It ranked among the stupidest things he'd ever done in his life. And definitely topped the list of the most embarrassing. He sat back a little, running his hands over his face, and sighed. When he looked out again, he froze a little.

She'd even put her hammock away.

There was a big expanse of open wood where her bed had hung, and the room looked totally different now. It was more of a ship's bunk now, less of his little home-away-from-home. He'd never looked at a ship's bunk and felt lonely before, but he did now.

He glanced over at the closet, where the door hung slightly open and her badly-folded hammock peeked out, and his eyes fell on the little square pillow that lay on the floor next to it. It was Nick's—the number of times he'd picked the damn thing up off the floor when she tipped the hammock over was beyond counting.

He got to his feet and picked it up again, trying to decide what to do. He could leave it in here, like he'd never noticed it. Or leave it outside the door, to let her retrieve it without making anything more awkward than it was.

Or he could go find her, and try to explain and find some kind of truce.

He rolled the pillow up and gripped it tightly in his fist, getting to his feet to head out. He'd find her down in the galley and give it back, if only to make sure she knew he wasn't going to avoid her from here on out. He owed her that much at least.

But when he got down there, he couldn't spot any hammock that looked like it had been recently hung, and Nick was nowhere to be seen. He made a lap, trying to find anyone that might know where she'd gone. Joche nearly bulldozed him around a corner, and he nipped the salute in the bud with an upheld hand. "At ease. Have you seen the cabin boy?" he asked.

"Not since mess," the younger sailor replied quickly. "Pardon, sir, but is he in trouble?"

Jim raised a brow, pausing only for a moment before turning on his heel to leave. "I'm not sure yet," he called back.

Nick was stomping rather childishly as she stormed up the stairs, that being the singular not-depressing factor in her exit from the galley… right up until she found herself face to face with the source of her troubles. Her little pillow looked rather pathetic in his outstretched hand.

"Forgot something," he said quickly, but pulled it back when she reached for it. "Actually, can we talk?" he asked, sounding like he surprised himself with the question.

She shook her head. "Silver's in there. And I've gotta go…"

"Hey, can we have a minute?" Jim called down the steps, and she heard Silver trundle over with that distinctive clomping of his.

"Alone?" the older man asked, dropping his voice suspiciously.

"Just a minute. Maybe two. You can stand at the door," Jim offered, already nudging Nick down the steps.

"Ah dunno if this's a good plan, lad," Silver rumbled.

"Trust me," Jim replied stoutly. "Two minutes, and we'll be fine if you watch the door."

Silver looked at him carefully with his good eye. "Don't make a habit of this, Jimbo. It's naught but trouble."

Jim gave him a look so full of bravado that Silver could smell the trouble brewing. "I won't," he assured the cook.

Silver got out of the way as Jim steered Nick backwards and further into the galley, and headed up the steps to stand guard with his pipe, Morph fluttering about his shoulders.

Jim turned to face Nick, who dropped her bag in resignation and snatched her pillow from his hand.

"Look, I'm sorry. That was dumb. It should never have happened. I was... It was _really_ dumb. You can't move out, because it doesn't make sense, but I promise we can pretend that never happened. It'll be better, I won't be an ass, and... It'll be like nothing ever changed..." He rambled on, mostly staring at his feet and looking up into her face every few moments. She felt her heart sinking. He was embarrassed, and regretted kissing her, and probably because she'd told him she wished he had punched her instead (which she had regretted immediately), and in a moment of absolutely insane clarity, she was sick to death of waiting for one or the other of them to make the right move, or say the right thing.

She took a step in closer, getting between him and the shoes he found so engrossing, and stood up on her toes to shut him up with a kiss.

It took until he realized he should stop talking for her to be absolutely certain it was one of the smartest things she'd ever done.

And it took until he kissed her back to realize that it was also one of the stupidest.

She pulled back just as he was coming to grips with the sudden turn of events, and they were left staring at each other like idiots.

"I'm sorry," she blurted immediately. "I didn't… I didn't mean…" but instead of the 'to do it' that she had expected to say, she heard herself say "what I said earlier."

"About punching you?" he asked, trying to follow the logic of this lunatic that he'd managed to fall for. She nodded, and he relaxed for the first time in a week.

"I just… I was so mad at you… and then you went and did that…"

"It was incredibly stupid," he agreed in a whisper, moving a little closer. "Are you still mad?"

"Jim, we can't…" she whispered, backing up a bit and glancing at the stairs at the thumping footsteps of Silver coming down to check on them. "Silver will kill us…"

"Shh," he hissed, catching her chin in his hand and kissing her swiftly. "He doesn't know anything. Deep breath. Calm down. Let me talk."

The force of his kiss stunned her into silence, and she stepped back to gather her things up. As she slowly regained coherent thought, it occurred to her that he might have done that specifically to keep her shut up..

Silver appeared at the bottom of the stairs, poking his head in carefully to check on them. Nick saw his cyborg eye narrow and felt his stare, but there was nothing he could say. She was across the room from Jim, who was nonchalantly stealing purps from the bottom of the barrel, and the flush in her cheeks didn't mean anything..

"Glad that's settled, then," Silver rumbled, clapping his hands and looking between the two of them.

"Yep," Jim agreed, straightening up and taking a big bite of purp before tossing a second one at Nick. She caught it, still in a bit of a daze, and looked up at him. "Nick's gonna get her stuff back to the room before anyone notices. Apparently it'd be really dumb to try to move in with the crew, all things considered," he explained.

"Ah'll be needin' 'er a bit longer," he said carefully, watching the cabin boy carefully. "Chores an' all, y'know."

"Well, I'm not going to carry all this back to the room. Nick will be back in a minute. I have to go see the captain now, but I'll be down later," he shrugged, taking another bite.

Silver sighed, looking between the two of them, knowing he was being outplayed. "Eh… forget it. It can wait till mornin'."

Jim nodded once, as though he'd expected nothing less, and headed for the door with Nick trailing after him, and Ishmael trailing sheepishly after her. Silver sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

_Definitely_ too damn old for this nonsense.

When they got out of the galley, Jim reached back and took her bag from her, helping her hurry across the deck and back to their cabin before anyone could notice them. The man on watch waved a hand, but didn't spare them a second glance. Once they were safely behind closed doors, he dropped her knapsack beside his bed and ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "We've made a mess, Nick," he said softly.

She didn't know how to answer that one. Anger rose up in her chest, defensiveness and accusation, but she knew that throwing things back at him would only make it worse. And she was tired of making things worse. "Yes, we have," she agreed, after too long.

He looked over at her with a spiked brow. "I'm sorry," he said, even more quietly.

"Me too," she whispered, stepping closer. He turned to face her, opening his arms a little bit. She hesitated, though she wasn't sure why. But then she realized that she'd just kissed him in the middle of the galley, and a little hug wasn't going to make that any worse. She wrapped her arms around his middle and let his arms close around her, and for just a few minutes she would let herself pretend this could make everything right.

But it couldn't, and they both knew that.

"So… can you explain this to me?" she asked softly, closing her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I thought if I stayed away from you, this wouldn't happen."

He felt her tense a moment, then relax again. "You're an idiot," she pronounced.

"I know," he smirked, laying his chin on top of her head.

"We're both idiots. This is a horrible idea," she added.

"I know," he repeated.

"We'll get caught."

"No we won't. We'll be careful."

"No we won't. We'll be idiots."

He laughed, and hugged her tighter. "I promise we won't." Then he pulled away a little, holding her by the shoulders, and looked right into her eyes. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you because of me."

"That's a really stupid promise," she retorted.

"I know. That's how you know I mean it."

She shook her head a little, pulling away completely. "Jim, we both know better."

He shrugged and dropped his arms to his sides. "I know we do, but… honestly, I don't care."

She raised an eyebrow and looked up at him. "I _have _to care."

"I know," he said quickly. "I know. I know it's bad. But we won't get caught. Nothing will change. Look, Nick, you haven't gotten caught yet! If we're not stupid about it, there's no reason to think that we can't have… something."

"Jim, we really can't have 'something'. You know that!" she insisted, kicking her bag over to her side of the room.

"Nick, stop," he begged, catching her hand and pulling her back. "Stop. We've been careful. We've tried to avoid this. It didn't work. You think it's gonna work now?" She went quiet, staring down at the floor, and he decided to press his luck. "I haven't been able to get anything done, because I can't stop thinking about you. And I don't think that I can just pretend this never happened... and you can't either, can you?"

"Stop it, Jim," she insisted, pulling back a little.

"You know I'm right," he insisted, moving closer to her. He lifted her chin with his knuckle, making her look up at him. Her hair was a mess, and he tucked a few stray bits behind her ear, but it only made her look messier. "Nick, you know I'm right," he repeated, leaning in a bit.

"I hate you for it," she said softly, and she could practically feel his smile. "How do you make something completely insane sound so rational?"

He laughed, and kissed her again. She could tell he meant it to be a quick one, a little peck, but she captured another before he could pull back. She leaned into him gently and his hand uncurled from under her chin, his callused fingertips tracing along her jaw..

The sudden knock on the door had them on opposite sides of the room in less than a heartbeat. Nick immediately busied her shaking hands with unfolding and hanging the hammock she'd sleep in, keeping her pink cheeks out of sight by facing away from the door.

"What is it?" Jim barked at the man in the corridor, sounding a little gruffer than he maybe _needed_ to… Nick kept her head down, hoping no one saw her smirk.

"Uh.. I, uh… the captain wanted to see you, sir," he stammered, saluting.

Jim nodded briskly. "Tell him I'll be there in five." The door slammed shut again on the man's response. Nick looked up, guilt and a little apprehension warring with the smirk on her face, but he pulled on his jacket without really looking at her. She sighed, telling herself that they couldn't fix everything in a single night (and certainly not by kissing), and turned back to finish hanging the hammock.

A pair of strong and very stubborn arms snaked around her and pulled her against a firm chest, despite her protests. "I have to go. And I have watch in a little while," he said quietly, dropping a kiss into her hair. "If I know the first thing about you, you're going to spend the whole time I'm gone convincing yourself that we're idiots. Just promise not to make any decisions for my own good without asking me first, okay?" he added, letting a little of his worry creep into his voice. "I made that mistake already, and it almost ended really badly."

She didn't think he could possibly have said something more simultaneously soothing and unsettling if he'd tried. "I promise not to be an idiot by myself," she allowed. "Now go, before you make them ask why you're late."

She felt him smile in her hair before his warmth pulled away from her and she was left dazed, confused, and really, really happy for the first time she could remember.

It was kind of nice.

Jim stared at the map, and the red circles on it, and blinked his eyes. "He's circling. Like a buzzard."

"He's waiting for us. He has to be," the captain agreed. "We just have to hope we can sneak by, or fend him off when he tries it. He's amassed six or seven ships by now, assuming he's kept the last few that just vanished. We have another three weeks till I'll feel safe, but hopefully their armada will meet us outside the border." He sat back in his chair, folding his hands and pressing the knuckles to his lips. "I don't see how we're going to get out of this one, Jim," he admitted.

The first mate looked up at him, his mind racing, and picked up the map to start pacing the room. Silence, save for the sound of his frustrated steps, reigned. Then he threw the map down, eyes wide, and stopped in his tracks.

"Captain, I had a navigation professor at the Academy," he said, seemingly randomly, a small smirk creeping onto his face.

"As did I," the captain acknowledged, wondering briefly if his first mate had lost his mind.

"I hated mine. How did you like yours?" he asked, moving closer to the desk.

"I respected him," he said defensively. "The man was a decorated navigation officer!"

"Mine was a twerp. On the first day of class, he declared that holomaps were rubbish. We were to live and die by the sextant, and by the map. Anything less was for pirates and ruffians, not her majesty's Navy," he said, leaning over the desk.

The old man's eyes lit up. "To catch a thief, as they say…" he mused. "If we can convince our navigators to throw out the rulebook."

"Oh, we'll convince them," Jim said certainly. "It's do or die at this point."

Nick lay awake in her hammock that night, unable to breathe with the weight of the worry that sat on her chest. She was determined not to cry, more because it felt like it would suffocate her than anything else. Her mind reeled with the emotions and truths and fears that had been revealed that day. When she woke up that morning, she had no one. She was strong and alone, and if Jim had hurt her by ignoring her, well, pshaw. She was too strong for that. But now…

Now she had Jim. And he had her. And it was a terrifying prospect. Losing him now would hurt even more. Getting him into trouble because she couldn't stand to lose him would be worst of all. And somehow, without his heart beating against her ear and his arms around her, she wasn't nearly so convinced that things would all work out in the end. She'd promised not to make any decisions for his own good, but she was regretting thinking that she could handle this…

The door swung open again well past midnight, and she tried not to jump out of her skin. Was it that late already? She pretended to be asleep when he entered, but he scoffed softly.

"I saw you close your eyes," he whispered, shutting the door and shrugging out of his jacket.

"Not fair," she whispered back, eyes still closed.

"Totally fair. Not my fault your reflexes are terrible," he retorted, trying not to laugh.

She opened her eyes and curled up tighter, watching him like a little owl. He sat down on his bed to take his boots off and looked at her appraisingly. "So. Scale of one to ten, how much have you freaked yourself out?"

"Fifteen," she whispered, sitting up in the hammock.

He nodded approvingly. "If it was anything less than ten, I'd have known you were lying."

She half-smiled, but hugged her knees to her chest. She didn't know what to say, whether to apologize or thank him, whether to admit that she was scared for both of them..

"Do you trust me not to tell anyone about you?" he asked softly, making her look up again. She nodded hesitatingly.

"And I trust you not to run out there and tell on yourself. Look, Nick, I'm not… I'm not expecting you to suddenly be all mine all the time. That's ridiculous, considering that yesterday I was trying to make you hate me so you'd stay away. And I know you don't expect me to suddenly want to be at your side every minute, or any of that other romantic junk."

She blinked, opening her mouth to protest, but stopped. He was… well, damn him, he was right.

"You're my friend. All that's changed is that now I can be honest about the fact that I like you a lot more than I ever liked my other friends," he teased her, getting to his feet again.

"Why are you so calm about this?" she asked, letting her smile grow a little more.

_Because this is the least scary thing in my life right now,_ he thought, pausing at the dresser before changing his shirt. "Because facing a panicking horse in a panic of your own just makes things worse," he teased.

She snorted, throwing her little pillow at his head. He caught it and walked over to lay it back in its place, resisting the urge to kiss her when he was leaned in that close. "Did you stay up on purpose, or can't you sleep?" he asked.

"I couldn't sleep," she admitted.

He nodded and surrendered for what felt like the hundredth time that night, and the first of a million more, kissing her softly on the forehead. "You have to sleep, Nick. I'm going to work you to death tomorrow, to make sure I don't get any time alone with you, so that I don't have to worry about acting like an idiot in front of anyone."

"That doesn't sound fair. Can't you do a bunch of work to stay away from me?" she scowled.

He shook his head. "Not a chance. I'm the first mate, remember? I can't show favoritism toward the cabin boy."

"Tomorrow," she protested, her voice very small. "Tomorrow you'll be the first mate, and I'll be the cabin boy. Not right now."

The corner of his mouth twitched up, and she felt her heart flip. "So who are we right now?"

"Jim and Nick," she whispered, leaning in a little bit. Did it make her an idiot to want to kiss him so badly?

"I like the sound of that," he agreed, lingering just out of reach. His eyes scanned her face, and then he lifted his chin to kiss her gently on the forehead. "Time to sleep," he said quickly, getting up and going back to his side of the room.

"Goodnight," she sighed, curling up.

"Night," he replied, turning down the light.


	21. Chapter 17: THE END IS WHERE WE BEGIN

_A/N: This chapter is quite long and is broken up a little differently than usual. This may not pose any difficulty for some of you, but others may find themselves slightly lost. If it helps, think of it as the music montage chapter, in which we cover many separate scenes in brief snippets. Were this truly a music montage, my suggestion for the background music would be "Let Love In" by the Goo Goo Dolls, from which the chapter gets its name. __ Hope you enjoy!)_

**CHAPTER 17: "THE END, I FEAR, IS WHERE WE BEGIN"**

Jim was utterly unable to concentrate.

He'd gotten through his basic duties on autopilot, and had kept Nick at bay for the majority of the day. A few tasks, and then she was Silver's responsibility. He'd skipped lunch, and stayed clear of the galley. He went back to his room at one point to just take a moment to breathe normally again.

It had been his idea. He knew that. He'd started the whole thing by kissing her. But honestly, she'd pushed him to do it. And then she had kissed him. So it was her fault. Kind of. No, it was definitely his fault. So why, if it was his fault, and his idea, why in the name of all things good and holy was he having such a hard time keeping it together?

It wasn't that he couldn't look at her without thinking about kissing her. It wasn't that he couldn't look at her without wanting to cross the room and be at her side.

It was that he couldn't look at her without seeing a girl.

He couldn't look at her without seeing the curve of her lower lip, the little curl in her hair just behind her ear, the fact that her feet didn't fit those boots and that her hands were far too small. Everything he thought he'd trained himself to ignore about her, in order to protect her, was suddenly painfully obvious. And the memory of hugging her tightly and promising to keep her safe was equally strong.

He took a deep breath in, and closed his eyes as he exhaled. That promise meant so much to both of them. If he focused on that, he could do this.

Nick hurried through her work that afternoon, avoiding Jim and seeking time with the crew. She found that she avoided him almost as much after their newfound closeness as she had when she thought he hated her. When she avoided him, and tucked herself away in conversations with Silver, and Moder and Joche, and even in silence, alone, in her work, she felt safer in her skin. When Jim wasn't around, she could feel safer in general. She could be the cabin boy and not feel awkward or uncomfortable. It didn't feel like as much of a lie.

But Jim made her want it to be a lie. They were making so much trouble for themselves, but she wanted so badly for the charade to be over, for the mission to be over, so that they could quit with furtive looks and awkward smiles and stiff conversation when other people were around. She'd never been one for romance novels or happily-ever-afters, but Jim made her want to go back and give those fairy tales a second look.

She left the galley halfway through dinner, feeling exhausted and strained and unable to eat much. Ishmael only too willingly finished her plate for her, though he gave her a guilty look as he did it. She avoided their room too, taking advantage of a clear night to climb into the shrouds a ways and watch the stars pass by. She could lose herself in those stars. The sky was so big and bright and clear…

She must have dozed off, leaning against the ropes, staring out into the sky. The bells signaling a change of watch roused her from her perch, and she found that she'd twined herself into the ropes to keep from crashing to the deck, and now had to extricate sleep-clumsy limbs and pick her way down the lines. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stifled a yawn as she shuffled back to their room, Ishmael trotting at her side and bumping into her to keep her from walking into the walls.

Jim was sitting on the bed, papers scattered hither and thither, poring over a map and looking horribly frustrated. She wasn't awake enough for butterflies yet, and just smirked at him.

"Why don't you do that at a desk?" she asked, leaning over his shoulder to look at the map. Ishmael flopped down against his side with a happy little _whuff_.

"I used to. Now I have a hammock there instead," he replied dryly.

"Ah, I see._ I_ have a hammock," she corrected, sitting down beside him. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine. I usually work in the captain's stateroom anyway."

"Why not tonight?"

"It's overtime," he sighed, flipping through a stack of reports. "Were you going to sleep?"

"I just took a nap, so I don't know if I'll be able to," she admitted, still looking over his shoulder. "What is all this?"

"Classified. Don't read it. I'm not supposed to even have it out where you can see it. You're a civ, remember?"

She laughed and got up to stretch and get ready to sleep. "But a civ who knows how to keep secrets," she pointed out.

"That much I do know." he agreed, grinning. He moved over to make room for her beside him, closing up some of the paperwork. "How was your day?"

"It was okay. How was yours?"

"Same as it has been. I spent it steering clear of you," he teased her.

"Ouch. Thanks for that."

"Well, it was better today, because I let myself think you'd actually be a little bit happy to see me when we got back here," he admitted, nudging her shoulder and grinning down at her.

She actually blushed. "If I admit that I was, will it go right to your head?"

"I'll try to make sure it doesn't," he grinned, putting his arm around her.

Nick sat in the galley, polishing the silver they used to serve the princess and singing under her breath. It was a little pub tune, something everyone in every port in the Empire could sing, so it wasn't long before she caught Silver singing it along with her. She looked up with a smirk, especially when he caught himself and scowled over at her.

"What? It's me favorite," she drawled, in the old pub-girl accent she'd worked hard to lose. Now it sounded like a mix of her own drawl and his brogue.

"Quit singin' and get back t'work," he growled, shaking his head. That girl had been floating on air all day, and it was getting on his last nerve. He didn't care a whit if she gave herself away being giddy, he was damn near to throwing her overboard himself. If there was anything that made him crankier than the stupid girlishness of this "first love" business, he hadn't encountered it yet.

She felt his frustration and made a face at him. "I know you don't like that I'm happy right now," she said quietly.

"An' what gave yeh dat idea?" he scoffed, slamming a pot of vegetables on the counter.

"I don't blame you. We're being stupid and we know it. But you and I do really have the same priorities," she said quietly.

"S'at so?" he drawled, turning around with his hands on his hips.

She nodded. "I don't want to become any more of a problem than I already am. This is how he and I have found it easiest to deal with things. But I expect that you wouldn't hesitate to remove any threat to him. I'm actually counting on it. If I need to be removed, he won't be any help. You'd be my only chance at keeping him free and clear."

He took a moment to mull that over, eyeing her up carefully. Then he nodded brusquely and turned back to his chopping. "Yer damn right."

She almost grinned. Peace had been tentatively restored.

Jim heard the door open, and shut again, and rolled over to face the wall. He'd had a double watch last night, and he had no desire to acknowledge the daylight.

"It's past noon," she said in a stage whisper, creeping up to the side of the bed.

"Go away," he growled.

Her laugh didn't help. "It's time to get up," she whispered in the same voice.

"Not yet," he growled back, wrapping his pillow around his head.

"You're cranky today," she observed, and he heard her squat down beside the bunk. Ishmael's tail thumped Jim's ankle excitedly, which explained some of the warm bulk Jim had been wondering about a moment before.

"Well, sunshine, we can't all be morning people," he croaked, muffled by the pillow surrounding his head.

"No, you're definitely not," she agreed, laughing again. "Well, I'll leave you to it. I brought you coffee. Just the way you like it.."

He heard a mug clink down on the shelf by the bunk, and then she left. Ishmael jumped down to follow, with a loud thump. The door shut gently behind her.

The silence that followed was deafening. After about forty five seconds, he knew he wasn't going to get back to sleep this morning.

He dragged himself up out of the bed and tugged on a shirt. He yawned and stretched and ran a hand through hair that stood straight up before turning to look for the promised coffee.

The moment he touched the chipped, white mug, three things registered with him. One, that the mug was cold. Two, that there was no coffee smell emanating from it. And three, that Nick had never brought him coffee before.

Ever.

A second later, he shut his eyes and sighed. The nerve of that girl sometimes.

In his hand was a mug full of sugar, with a spoon stuck cheerfully in the middle.

That was the thing, Moder thought to himself. You had to know where you stood with a man. Otherwise you'd never be able to survive on a ship. There was more to it than rank, but only in a sideways sort of way. There was your rank, and then there was what those above you thought of you. It seemed to him that they were equally important.

The cabin boy didn't really seem to get it.

Admittedly, he wasn't part of the Navy. Just this crew. But no matter how well he did his work, his attitude toward the first mate was going to cause trouble.

"You know, the captain's going to notice eventually," he offered one night over a game of cards.

"Notice what?" Joche asked, after a moment's pause in which Nick studiously ignored the comment.

"That the cabin boy has copped an attitude. I've seen how you're acting around Hawkins. You're making trouble for yourself," he cautioned.

The boy's eyes flashed, but he merely shrugged. "I'm not a kiss-ass. I've never been a kiss-ass. And if I don't get along with someone, I've never seen the point in pretending I do. Don't act surprised," he scoffed. "I don't _need_ him to like me, so forgive me if I don't give a shit. It's not like i have a future in the navy."

Moder shook his head again, and threw down his cards. "Whatever. I'm not your mother. If you wanna burn bridges, be my guest."

Nick gave him a tiny, smug smirk. "Thanks, mum."

Moder rolled his eyes and got up for another drink. Nick chuckled and laid down his cards, winning the round (to the dismay of the others) before retiring for the night.

"How was the game?" Jim asked, looking up from the sheaf of papers he was sorting through on the bed.

"I won," she smirked, positively beaming with something he wasn't quite sure he could identify.

"Did you win more than you lost?" he clarified. She laughed and shrugged out of her jacket.

"Yes. And I got some excellent advice," she grinned, moving to lean over the papers and kiss him lightly. "Apparently I'm going to burn some bridges if I don't start warming up to the first mate. Moder is worried I'm being an insubordinate ass.."

His smile spread like warm honey. "That's very good news... I mean, advice. What did you say?"

She laughed again. "I believe my words were: I'm not a kiss-ass, and I've never been a kiss-ass, and I don't particularly give a shit if the first mate likes me."

He was smiling as he kissed her again. "Liar."

She smirked. "I know. I'm terrible."

"Oh my stars," Alanna declared, eyeing Nick head to toe. "You're in love with him, you little minx!"

Nick flushed deeply and looked around, but the maids carried on their conspicuously loud conversation, so it seemed no one was likely to overhear.

"Not... not in _love_," she protested weakly. "Just... strong mutual like..."

Alanna just sat back in her chair, staring in awe. "I can't believe you...this is like something out of a story."

Nick shrugged uncomfortably. "Not really. Unless you mean a story about really dumb decisions." She sighed and ran a hand through her tangled hair. "I mean, so far it's fine. But it can't end well, can it?"

A pregnant silence hovered for quite some time. Alanna eventually sat up a little. "It's too soon to tell," she declared.

"Definitely not a fairy tale, then," Nick grimaced.

"It could be," Alanna protested, trying to sound positive. "You could make it work. You just have to be careful. Plan a little bit..."

Nick gave her a little look. "I seriously don't think we'll manage to make it last. Think about it!"

Alana scoffed and sat back. "Well, if you think it won't work, why don't you just cut your losses?"

The silence that followed could only be described as stunned.

"Point taken," Nick grumbled.

"Thank you. But really, what are you going to do?" she asked.

"I don't know. I really don't know. I can't see how we can possibly expect it to work, but I keep hoping it will anyway. I can't... I don't know what I'd do without him..."

Alanna felt a hot swoop of envy in her gut. The cabin boy had fallen in love with the first mate, and he loved her back enough to risk his career to be with her for whatever short time they had...

It was so romantic she could puke.

Meanwhile, she'd have a year-long wedding celebration with a man she had never met, and be expected to announce an impending heir by the anniversary. Joy. Just what every princess wants her fairy tale ending to look like.

"Well you'll just have to cross that bridge when you come to it. For now, all you can do is enjoy each day that you have," she offered.

Nick sighed. "You're right. I'm getting ahead of myself..."

"Exactly. Just be grateful you're safe and together today. Tomorrow is its own battle," she added, quoting her grandmother.

That earned a grin. "My… the woman who raised me used to say that. She said she got it from my mother. I was much older when I realized she was repeating the Empress."

The earlier envy faded in the wake of a sharp pang of loss. "She was an incredible woman. Your mother had good tastes," she tried to joke.

Nick smiled weakly, and sighed a little. "How are you holding up?"

Now Alanna stiffened up and looked coolly across at Nick. "A princess never shows fear," she pronounced, the friendly girl melting away into the new Empress. "Now, which book was it you wanted to borrow?"

She didn't even flinch when he opened the door, so engrossed was she in the enormous tome she had curled herself around in her bunk. He peeked over, got no response, and smirked.

His greeting went unanswered. Taking off his jacket didn't merit a response. Dropping a hint about getting ready for bed was ignored. Not even bumping intentionally into the hammock merited acknowledgment. It wasn't until he turned down the light that he got a cry of dismay and a barrage of protest.

"What did you do that for? It was just getting to the best part!" she demanded, trying to extend her arm the extra six inches it would need to reach around him and get to the lamp.

"Because I couldn't get your attention any other way..." he smirked.

"Sure you could have! C'mon, I'll lose my place! Jim! Turn the light on!" she protested.

"It's almost midnight! Why are you even still up?"

"I couldn't put it down... Don't laugh, I mean it!"

"I didn't figure you for much of a reader," he admitted, turning the lamp back up.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, curling back up.

He lifted one shoulder. "Do you read much? It didn't sound like you had time."

"I didn't. But my mother taught me... She used to read to everyone, on her nights off, and every night, once she was sick..." she told him absently, diving back into her book.

He leaned over to kiss her hair and left her alone with her book.

Nick stood in front of the tiny mirror Jim used to shave, holding her hair back to see how long it was getting. It was an embarrassingly feminine temptation, one that she almost always had in control (along with brushing her hair, and washing it more than once a week), but Jim had commented on how long it was getting, and she'd have to cut it soon... She could almost pin it up now, but a few curls still fell to hang on either side of her face.

Suddenly he slid up behind her, laying a quick kiss on her exposed neck and making her jump. "I like that," he praised. "You look pretty..."

She flushed and dropped her scraggly hair, not having realized he was paying any attention. "I, uh, I just really need a haircut," she said quickly, turning around to shy away from the incriminating mirror. She knew he saw her as a girl, and liked her even though she did her best to look like a boy, but then her mind ran away with her common sense and she wanted so badly to drop all the pretenses. Which was a horrible decision, and there was no room for thinking like that, and she would wind up just feeling conflicted and a little dizzy.

He caught her around the waist and pulled her back around to face him. "Hey, stop. I meant that as a good thing, y'know. Last I checked, pretty still qualified as a compliment.."

"It does. Thank you. I just can't think like that now. Here. I have to be the Nick-the-cabin-boy," she protested.

"Can I just talk to Nick-the-girl for a minute?" he asked softly, his hands spanning her back and keeping her close against him.

She couldn't help a smile. "Just for a minute..."

He kissed her forehead, smiling down. "I always think you're pretty. I like you like this, like a boy. Not that I like boys," he added hastily, flushing and getting clumsy. "I just mean I don't care... So why do you care?"

She blinked, then lifted one shoulder. "I don't. I can't. It's hard to be two people at once. I can't think about how to do my hair and what you think of how I look... There just isn't room in me. And when you say something... It's all I can think about. It makes a girl out of me, and suddenly I wish I could just be myself again, and that's the worst thing in the universe for me to be right now."

He sighed and loosened his hold on her. "I'm sorry I said you looked pretty," he said in a low voice, and she caught a spark of a smirk.

"Oh, shut up!" she laughed, smacking his arm and pulling away to get to work before he could try anything else.

Nick looked up from her book as he walked in the door, watched him silently as he shrugged out of his coat, and noticed not for the first time as his shoulders dropped, his back slouched slightly, and he sighed like he was exhausted. He shook it off, straightening up and becoming himself again.

"Why do you do that?" she asked, shutting her book

"Do what?" he asked, tossing his coat on the bunk.

"You take off the 'first mate' like a coat. You come in and you relax, and you stop being the first mate and you start being Jim. And in the morning, you put on the coat and the medals and the first mate, and sometimes I don't see Jim again until after dark," she pointed out. "It's… odd."

"What, I can't relax after work?" he asked, feeling defensive.

"I'm not saying that.. It's just… you know how you have to ask to talk to Nick-the-girl? It's the same thing.. you're two people too," she grinned.

"I am not. I'm Jim Hawkins, and being the first mate is a job," he protested, feeling uncomfortable as he sat down on the edge of his bed. "I'm not two different people, I'm just on duty."

She shrugged a little and set her book aside, climbing out of the hammock and going over to stand between his knees and pat him on the shoulder. "Okay, I take it back. It's just a job."

He nodded curtly, putting an arm around her waist loosely. Her words had gotten into his skull, and bounced around and now were ringing in his ears. He didn't like it. But it was fact. He did have to change to be the first mate, and act differently. He had to act in Nick's best interests.

But he refused to believe he was two different men.

She put her arms around his neck and kissed his temple. "I take it back," she repeated.

"You're forgiven," he said lightly, hugging her tighter.

The ruckus on deck was unbelievable. Nick couldn't believe how tense the men seemed. The captain had come down after mess that morning and addressed the whole crew, but she'd been scrubbing pots and pans until well after they'd all cleared out, and hadn't managed to hear much of what was said. But ever since, the men had seemed to be on a hair trigger, looking around watchfully and seeming more brusque and short with each other than usual. She had gone out on the deck to swab when she was done washing dishes, and now stood watching warily as they seemed to be rearranging the deck entirely.

"Untie those casks, cabin boy," the man bellowed, pointing her to a group of barrels against the rail.

She nodded, dropping the mop and bucket into the corner, and darting over to try to untie the ropes from the metal rings in the boards of the deck. The barrels had been abovedecks for storage, but apparently the majority of supplies stored on deck were being moved down into storage in the prow. She supposed they'd used up a lot of their supplies by now.

Nick knelt down to examine the ropes. Gunner's knot. She took a deep breath, and blew her hair out of her face. These were difficult to untie in the best of circumstances. Her fingers scrabbled across the ropes, but to no avail. They'd pulled tight after all these months... did they really expect her to be able to untie these?

She got back to her feet. "May I cut these?" she asked, pulling her knife from her boot.

The man looked back at her, then over her head. "Your call, Hawkins," he shrugged.

Jim appeared at her side, peering around to look at the ropes. "You could use the practice, cabin boy," he shrugged, pointing at the barrels.

She opened her mouth to protest, but shut it again. Moder wasn't going to be able to tell her she was being uncooperative. She'd be downright friendly. She shoved the knife back into her boot top sheath and took a step back. "I can't untie them. I don't know if the rope's fused or what, but I can't get them."

He knelt down and ran his fingers over the knots, testing the tension of the rope and the state of the fibers. "Here, bring your knife," he instructed, and she squatted down beside him and offered him the knife.

"I thought I wasn't supposed to cut it," she protested, fighting hard to keep the smirk off her lips.

"You lose less rope if you cut the riding turn—the bit that crosses over the top—and then it's as good as untied," he pointed out, easily slicing the rope and handing the knife back. She tucked it away absently as she watched his hands deftly eased the knot loose, and eventually the ropes slid free. "You try the next one," he said, pointing to the other ring.

She tugged the knife out of her boot, going around the barrels to trim and untie the knot, working it free from the metal ring. "Very nice," she agreed, getting back to her feet and coiling the ropes back up. "Thank you, sir."

"My pleasure," he grinned, giving her a little smile and heading back to his task.

Jim woke to a sharp cry, a thump, and muffled gasps and shuffling.

"Jim. _Jim,_" she hissed, shaking his arm.

His only reply was to groan and hide his face in his pillow.

"No, Jim, _please_," she whispered, and now he heard tears. "It happened again, it happened, the nightmare, and they're everywhere, I can _feel_ them, and I can't stay in here, I can't sleep, Jim, they're _everywhere,_ I-"

He shut her up by very suddenly reaching out to grab her around the waist, sitting up and pulling her down into his lap all in one motion.

She was shaking all over, trembling and trying to catch her breath, and he folded her in his arms and tucked her under his chin. "It's fine, sunshine. It's okay.. They can't get you," he soothed, leaning back on the wall and laying his chin on her hair, eyes still closed.

She hiccupped and her stifled sob hitched. It took a few minutes of rubbing her back before her body relaxed against him and her breathing slowed.

He sighed and relaxed with her tucked into his chest, almost asleep again when she stirred and shifted and he jumped awake. He looked down at her, curled up in his arms, settled against his chest, and for a moment he could be honest... He really started to wonder sometimes if he loved her. This wasn't just a passing feeling. He couldn't tell himself it was a phase. It wasn't fading. What was he going to do?

He kissed her hair and uncurled enough to carry her over to her hammock and lay her down. He hated that she was having nightmares, but he didn't really mind comforting her. He felt strong, powerful, like there was actually something he could protect her from.

It was maybe the only thing he could protect her from.

Nick let herself into the room, stopping short when she saw the paperwork scattered in haphazard piles around the floor again. Jim sat against the side of the bunk in the center of the mess, a file open in his lap and his focus intense. Ishmael was at his feet, curled up under the hammock, and looked up with a thump of his tail when she came in. "It's like a minefield," she commented with a grin, kicking off her boots to tiptoe barefoot around the piles and hop over his outstretched legs.

"Don't touch anything," he warned, not looking up from riffling through the papers in a hasty cross-reference, even when she ruffled his hair using his head for balance on her way past. Ishmael laid his head back down in obedience.

"Wouldn't dream of it," she smirked, reaching down to heft her book from her hammock. Well, since he'd claimed the floor, it seemed only fair that the bed was fair game…

She hopped up and sat cross legged on his bed, opening her book open in her lap, and commenced quietly reading. Sometime later, he laid his head back on the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. She leaned in and looked over his shoulder to spy on the paperwork

"What are these?" she asked, reaching down to point out the red circles on the map.

"I can't tell you," he said dully.

She pushed the book aside and bent over, bracing her elbows on the bed and putting her chin on her hands. "Not even a hint?"

"Nope," he agreed, still looking up. A little smile tugged at his lips.

"You do realize I could lean over and read them, right?"

"Yup," he said, in the same tone.

"So you just can't tell me?" she asked, grinning.

"Yup."

"Will it always be like that?"

He turned his head, looking up at her. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I dunno," she shrugged. "Will you always have this secretive job that you can't really talk about with anyone? Doesn't that bother you?"

"I've never thought about it… honestly, there's never been anyone to tell," he admitted. "No one asks."

"Why not?" she wondered.

"Because they don't want to know, I guess."

She uncurled and laid out on her stomach on the bed. "I think it would be weird."

He turned to look at her. "What do you mean?"

"I think it would be weird," she repeated. "If you had so much of your life that you didn't talk about. I'd hate that."

"What?" he repeated, still lost trying to follow her.

She blushed. "I just mean… after this is over. When you have a mission, and I can't tag along… I'm not doing this 'boy' thing again, that's for damn sure."

He felt a smile rise up from his chest to settle on his face, and he leaned over to kiss her cheek. She responded with a grin, scooting closer to settle her chin on his shoulder and sling her arms around his chest. "I'll keep you in the loop. I'll write you letters," he grinned.

She laughed and hugged him gently. "Promise?"

"Promise."

It was her turn to kiss his scruffy cheek, and she pushed herself up to sit again. "Good. Time for dinner, boyo," she smirked, fixing his hair from her earlier touch. It wouldn't do to look disheveled…

He waved her off, running both hands through his hair to make a proper mess of it, then got to his feet. Ishmael recognized the cue for dinner, and rose to his feet to follow Jim to the door"You wanna go first?" he offered, getting his old jacket. Apparently he was going to dinner as Jim, not as the first mate.

She shook her head. "I'll count to one hundred tonight," she said with a little smile. "Gives me some time to read a little more."

He nodded and leaned over to kiss her quickly before picking his way across the minefield and head out the door. "See you later."

"See you," she agreed, curling back up on the bed with her book. She waited till she was going to be late for mess, then slipped back into hall and crept down to the galley. Hopefully no one would notice her, and she could just snag a spot at her usual table…

Once in the galley, a hand shot up from the table and waved in the air. The glint of metal on the fingers told her Moder was trying to catch her attention. She grabbed a bowl and slopped dinner into it, not really paying much attention as she grabbed a biscuit and headed for the table. There were more bodies in the room than she was used to, since she usually ate early and took off to finish her chores for the night. She wove her way through the tables and found the only empty spot on the bench Moder had indicated, made by the shifting of two bodies. She set her bowl down and started to climb over the bench, looking up to thank the man who had moved over, only to find herself staring into a very familiar pair of icy blue eyes. She stumbled, catching her foot on the bench and catching herself on the edge of the table with both hands and a loud bang. A few of the other men laughed and clapped mockingly, but she just turned bright red and sat down carefully, edging away from him slightly He rolled his eyes and turned back to his conversation about solar surfers with the man across from him.

She scowled down at her bowl, eating hastily, feeling dizzy and slightly panicky with the desire to get out of here. They had done a very, very careful job so far of making sure they didn't interact too much in public, so that they wouldn't have to lie more than necessary, or push the limits of their ability to act. This was definitely not part of the plan.

Moder kicked her boot under the table. When she looked up, he was scowling right back at her. "You are such a little girl," he hissed.

"Shut _up_!" she hissed back, setting her jaw.

"So, uh, Hawkins," Moder said with a little grin, stretching back a bit and folding his arms.

Jim turned to look at him, ignoring Nick completely.

"Do you think we could get the cabin boy to enlist?" he teased, earning a little attention from the others at the table.

Jim gave her a look like she was something he'd just found on the bottom of his shoe, then looked back at Moder with one eyebrow raised. "Do we want to?"

The men found that hilarious. Nick's face burned.

"Sure!" Moder laughed.

He eyed her again, like he was trying to see what they saw in this sorry figure. It was utterly disconcerting to see no recognition at all in his eyes, no spark of playfulness or joking. Her heart rose into her throat, and she tried to keep a matched look of irritation on her own face. But it was hard, when she felt the desire to plead with him to recognize her…

"I don't know. Someone's gonna have to teach him how to read," he quipped, looking up at Moder with a smirk. The men erupted with laughter, and the man on the other side of Nick elbowed her hard in his mirth.

"Not you, Roth," Joche announced, setting off another round of laughter as the man who had elbowed Nick turned red and laughed slightly less enthusiastically.

Jim turned a winning smile on his appreciative audience, who were now teasing each other and ignoring Nick. She was still red-cheeked, and her pulse was racing, but she noticed that Jim wasn't laughing with them. In fact, he'd settled himself facing away from her, looking down the table, while she stared down at her plate, arms braced at her sides to keep herself steady. It took an immense effort not to jump out of her skin when his fingers brushed over her knuckles as she gripped the bench. She couldn't even look up at him. She didn't trust herself one bit. She yanked her hand away as soon as she thought it wouldn't be obvious that she was reacting to him. She couldn't breathe. This was the most panicked she could remember ever being, outside of a nightmare.

Jim got up, taking his bowl and plate with him. "Well, I've got paperwork to do. Cabin boy, don't forget to finish up sweeping the longboat bay. I don't think you've done that _yet_."

She bobbed her head, taking a big bite of her dinner to keep her mouth full and not have to answer. Moder sniggered across the table, and leaned forward on folded arms. "We'll send him down. Don't worry," he laughed.

Jim nodded and turned away, dumping his bowl and cup in the basin before thumping up the stairs.

Nick rolled her eyes and pushed her food around in her bowl.

"You know he's not really hazing you, right?" Moder asked, tipping his head slightly to look into her face. She blushed and looked away again. Did she ever.

"Yeah."

"Well, stop taking everything so seriously. You're the only one around here who can't take a joke," he told her gently, but it almost sounded like a question.

"I've been trying," she admitted, adding a sigh and hoping it didn't sound too theatrical.

"Lighten up," he advised. "It'll help a lot."

"I will."

He nodded briskly, and she took her leave, setting her mostly-full bowl of food on the floor next to the basin to let Ishmael lap it up. Then she glanced around the room, estimated that she had about half an hour before the dishes would really _have _to be washed, and decided to venture down to the longboat hold to see if Jim was really dropping the hint she thought he was.

The stairs creaked beneath her feet, shattering the silence that pressed in around her. She was suddenly aware of the hum of the engines, the sounds of the ship moving through space... The hold was dark. What had she expected? She felt stupid, her face burning in the dark, and she kept a fumbling hand on the wall to look for the lamp as she crossed the planks to the storage closet where the broom was. No reason to waste the trip down here.

It wasn't until she was halfway across the room that she saw his shadow move, saw the hand reach out for her. She jumped back, barely suppressing a shout, and he had to lunge forward and catch her before she toppled off the planks and onto the bay doors below. He pulled her up against his chest for balance, and stepped backward to drag them both back into the shadow.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into the darkness.

The briefest of pauses passed in silence before she threw her arms around his middle and hid her face in the front of his shirt. "For what?" she breathed.

He let out a little huff of a laugh. "Mostly because you are so freaked out right now," he admitted, closing his arms around her.

She felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rising up in her chest and she hugged him tighter and hid her face against his collarbones to try to smother it. A strangled half-giggle escaped her, sounding almost like it could have been a sob.

Was she crying? He pulled back to look into her face with concern, his hands sliding to rest on her hips.

"I'm fine," she said quickly, taking deep breaths a little too close together. "That… I can't believe that just happened.. We just.. and they… I can't…"

"Shh, shh…" he insisted, trying not to laugh. "Nick, shh.."

"I thought I was going to pass out," she hissed, leaning back to look up at him and moving her hands to his shoulders.

"I thought you were too," he whispered, surrendering to his laughter. "You almost jumped out of your skin when I touched your hand."

"Yeah, because you shouldn't have touched me!" she insisted with sudden anger, thumping him on the chest.

"I just... I couldn't help it," he smirked. But she pinned him with a look, and he grew serious. He smoothed his hands over her back. "No, but seriously, I am sorry. For upsetting you."

Her scowl faded and she sighed heavily. "I'm sorry too. I probably overreacted. You scared some years off my life tonight.."

"I'll try to get those back, I swear," he grinned. "Are we okay?"

She nodded, leaning into him. "I think so."

He kissed the corner of her mouth, spreading his fingers across her back and sliding his hands up a little. He was not at all in the mood to walk away right now, but he needed to. He kissed her cheek, then sighed and brushed her ear with his nose. "I have to go. I'll see you later…" he whispered.

Her hands fidgeted on his chest and he felt a little shiver run through her, which only made it harder to let her go. But the captain was waiting, and would ask where he'd been, and there was no need to call attention to himself. He kissed her forehead and dropped the embrace, feeling somewhat bereft without her in his arms as he left the bay.

She stood very still as she watched him leave, wringing hands that threatened to shake, trying to catch her breath. Get it together, Nick. She took a deep breath and tried to subdue the butterflies in her stomach as she went back to her work, sweeping the bay hastily before returning to the galley. The pots and pans and bowls and mugs were stacked everywhere, and Silver stood by the sink with his arms folded across his chest.

"Do I even wan' t' ask where yeh've been?" he growled, looking her over. She must have turned pink, because he sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. "Get t' work. Don' t'ink Ah won' keep yeh here till dawn, if that's wha' it takes."

She nodded and rolled up her sleeves. It would be hours before she got back to her room, and then she'd be drop-dead tired. So much for Jim's "later".

By the time she had cleaned to Silver's satisfaction (she was fairly certain he was just trying to find ways to keep her in the kitchen, and possibly make her cry), it was the middle of the night. She dragged herself back to her room, finding it disappointingly empty and tidied up. Well, at least she could go grab a shower… she needed one. She took a deep breath, and allowed herself a smile. She had never showered before she came aboard this ship, and it was still a treat to have a steady supply of water that stayed hot, and to be able to really feel clean when she stepped out. The only downside was that she had to stay up so late to make sure the showers were empty. And even then, she showered quickly, and dressed in the stall. Sometimes it was safer to borrow water and the basin from Alanna, but she was looking forward to this particular shower.

The shower itself was far too hurried to be relaxing, but she still preferred feeling clean. She hurriedly dried her hair with her towel, dropped it of in the laundry, and raced back up to her room. She knelt beside her knapsack and dug around inside of it to find a comb, and dragged it through her hair, trying not to cringe at the lack of length. It had been months and months, and she still despised her short hair. And on top of that, she'd let the boys cut it properly for her. It was up at her ears again, nearly a naval crew cut. She had tried not to cry when they showed her the "cleaned up" Nick in the mirror. It would be such a relief to grow it out again when this was all over…

She heard the door open but decided not to react, still trying to get her hair to dry in something other than a frizzed mess of used-to-be curls. Honestly, would a horsetail or a braid be too much to ask? This was the worst part…

"Hey," came a low voice, and she felt her stomach twist. He slipped up behind her and wrapped her arms around her middle, putting his nose in her hair.

"You used that soap," he commented, grinning as he kissed her ear to make her squirm. "From the inn."

She curled into him a little, grinning and blushing. "I wasn't going to. But I had a feeling someone would get a chance to appreciate it," she teased him back.

He smiled and hugged her tightly, his hands spread wide and covering her. Even he couldn't tell whether it was protectively or possessively. He wanted so badly to turn her around and kiss her, to keep her smiling and happy, but he couldn't. Not tonight. There was never any good news these days, and he was finding himself trying to avoid telling her what news there was. The men didn't talk about it. He wondered if she knew anything at all. He didn't want to be the one to tell her. He didn't want to watch that smile fade.

"Nick… I need to ask you something."

She tensed in his embrace, steeling herself against his tone. "What's wrong?"

"I need you to promise me that no matter what happens on this ship, you'll stay out of it."

She frowned, pulling away from him and turning to face him. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean if something happens. If we're attacked. You have to promise to stay out of it."

"I can't promise that. What are you talking about?" she asked, taking a step back.

He reached out for her hand. "Nick, you have to. You have to promise me."

"I can't! What is going on?" she demanded.

"Nick, we're being tracked. By the same man that attacked the Helios."

She froze, the color draining from her face. "Archer?"

He didn't want to ask who had given her that name. He simply nodded. "I need you to promise me you'll stay out of things, if it comes to that. Get off the ship, hide with Alanna, anything. Whatever it takes. I can't let you get caught up in this. Not more than you already are."

She nodded slowly. "I will."

"Swear it," he insisted, tugging her closer.

"You swear it first," she retorted, her brows snapping down. "Unless you're going to say this is because I'm a girl."

"I can't stay out of it, Nick, I'm the first mate. It's my job."

"Then promise to survive it."

He looked at her steadily for a long moment. "I promise."

"I promise too," she returned.

Jim let out a breath. "Thank you," he sighed, leaning down to kiss her.

It was just a little one, more innocent than most, but it was filled with a rush of relief that made her knees go weak. She reached up to his shoulders to hold on, to stay upright. And then it seemed that suddenly the innocence was gone from the kiss, and the fear had taken hold of them.

They were scared, both of them. Scared of the unknown, scared of the threat of death and destruction that loomed on their horizon. His hands covered her, finding the curves at her waist and exploring the smooth planes of her back, sending goosebumps racing over her skin. She pushed up on her toes to be closer to him, to close the space between them. He kissed her deeply, making her dizzy, her whole body alive at his touch. Her heart was pounding as her fingers dug into his shirt, trying to hold onto him as though that could keep him here and alive and safe. Her breath hitched in her chest and she was flushed with a fear that was as old as the universe, a fear that left her desperate and reckless.

She wanted him. This wasn't news to her. And he wanted her too, that much was clear. She wanted to pretend that, for tonight, they could love each other without consequence. And nothing could tear them apart.

But none of that was true. There was nothing she could do. No matter how badly she wanted it.

She felt tears prickle behind her eyes, and she pulled back from the kiss to catch her breath. She hid her face in his collarbone, clutching his shirt in her fists, trying very hard to hide the fact that she was crying. His arms wrapped her up tightly, shielding her from the world. He kissed in her hair and said nothing.

God help her, she knew what they meant now, when they talked about love. It crashed down on her in a breath, and she shivered with the suddenness of it.

"It'll be fine, Nick," he said softly, rubbing her back.

"I'll try to believe you," she whispered into his chest.

He moved his hands up to cradle her face, brushing her tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. "I will too," he returned, still holding her face as he kissed her soundly. She half-laughed, but it hitched on a sob and their smiles fell. He pressed his forehead to hers.

She let him enfold her in another long embrace before they had to separate and finish getting ready for lights-out. It was hard to let go… the moment had passed, but it was even harder to stay calm on her own than it had been in his arms. She stopped dead in her tracks at the realization that she depended on him so completely now. She could face her fears on her own, but she didn't have to if she didn't want to, and that made all the difference.

He sat down on the bed and leaned back on the wall, and patted the spot beside him on the bed. "Are you even going to be able to sleep tonight?"

"Probably not," she admitted, sitting crosslegged at his side.

"Should I try to talk you into sleeping, or stay up with you?" he asked, spiking an eyebrow.

"It would be incredibly stupid for you to intentionally exhaust yourself," she pointed out.

He grinned. "Did I ever tell you about the time B.E.N. and I almost got gored when a wild horkhog got into my mom's stables?" She couldn't help but laugh.

Jim stayed awake telling stories until she fell asleep curled up at his side. Then he very carefully put her back in the hammock, to avoid any upset in the morning.

Nick wandered up on the deck, hands chapped and raw from scrubbing, arms aching, knees stiff and feet and ankles tingling. Her head felt stuffed with thunderclouds and she was sneezing and coughing up a storm. She wanted so badly to collapse into her bed. Ishmael was asleep in the galley, next to the stove, and she was fiercely jealous. But she had promised, so she dragged herself up to one of the shrouds, and went hand over hand up and into the rigging, finding a little niche where she was tucked up against the mainmast and able to hang on to the various ropes and steady herself.

"Is that you, cabin boy?" a voice quietly rumbled from the crow's nest.

"It's Nick. Did I miss the meteor shower?" she asked, resting her head back against the wood and looking up.

"I don't think so. It should be soon though…" Jim sighed, leaning over to look down at her. "The men will be up on the deck as soon as word gets around"

"That's why I hurried up here and got my spot," she grinned, winding her arms into the rope ladder of the shroud and leaning forward to rest her chin on her arms.

"Good choice of spots," he agreed, watching her with a grin. She looked up and met his eyes, and was really glad she hadn't missed this. He was so excited to show her.

She stayed put in her little nest up on the spar of the mainmast, talking quietly to him while the men milled around on the deck below and waited for the stars to begin falling in the atmosphere of the planet they were passing. To anyone below, it would look like a momentary cease-fire between the cabin boy and first mate. In truth, Jim was telling her about his home. All the dirt and dust that seeped in through the doorjambs and window frames, and how every house had blinds in the windows to fake sunshine and clear weather they hardly ever had. There was little foliage left in his little town, except in the yards and gardens, and even then it was a struggle to keep them alive. Everything was brown or grey, everything was dirt and dust, and everything was stone or metal. And he missed it like crazy sometimes.

She frowned. "It sounds like a dingy place to live," she pointed out.

"It is," he agreed, grinning.

"It doesn't look like that from the port," she added, looking up. "It's always got fluffy white clouds and you can see the rivers between…"

"They aren't rivers, they're canyons. That's where they mine. That's where all the dust and dirt comes from."

"Oh. That's almost as bad as the port," she grimaced.

"Really? I always thought the port was pretty clean," he admitted.

"They kept you on the light side," she scoffed. "There's the light side, the inside of the curve," she explained, muddling a sneeze in her elbow and then illustrating with her hand, "and then there's the dark side, the outside of it, where things are definitely not as pretty."

He was quiet for a moment. "How in the world did you end up there?" he asked, rather than admitting that he'd never ventured to the dark side of the port.

"I never knew anything else. I was born there. I told you this, didn't I?"

He shrugged, and she sensed more than saw it.

"I was born there. I don't know how my mother ended up there, but I know she had no one else around, so I've always guessed something happened to her that left her stuck there. Maybe it was me—that she got pregnant and was desperate. I never asked. When I'm mad at her, she was a whore, and that's still the truth of it. But when I remember the other things, I wonder if she wasn't as scared as I was when I ran away, but she stayed because she had me, and we had a roof over our heads. I wish I could ask her. I've had so many questions…" she trailed off.

"Like what?"

"Well, who my father was, for one. She never told me. She would get quiet after I asked. I remember that. And I used to think she didn't love me, or didn't love anyone, but lately… lately I think back and I wonder if she did. I think she might have. I think she would have gotten rid of me if she hadn't. God knows, most of the other ladies either got rid of their babies or gave them to the orphanages, and I certainly wasn't helpful to her. I remember her teaching me to read, and singing me to sleep sometimes, and staying up when I was sick." She swallowed hard and sniffled. "And then I wonder if maybe she did know who my father was, and that was why she kept me, and if I meant something to her, then... I mean, maybe she and he… it's just such a mess. I was so little. I wish I remembered more.."

"Nick, you were only six. I think you remember more than you think," he pointed out gently. "Maybe the answers are somewhere.."

She shrugged and shifted, hugging the ropes a little tighter. "It's too late now anyway. There's nothing I can do about any of it. Even if I found the answers, what am I going to do? Go knock on some guy's door and introduce myself as the daughter of that whore he knocked up? It can't happen, Jim," she said flatly, looking up at him.

"Maybe he's looking for you too," he argued.

"He had twelve years to do it while I was still right where he left us," she retorted, getting tired of the subject. "It's too late, Jim. He never looked for her, and he never found me. Please don't try to make more out of it."

Luckily for the two of them, the meteors had begun to fall and kept the attention off the crow's nest. She looked out into the sky and blinked to clear her vision, telling herself it was the head cold and the chilly wind making her eyes stream and hoping Jim didn't notice. She wondered what he would say if she told him she did have one small inheritance. The only thing Morgan had saved of her mom's. But she wasn't desperate enough to believe it held any answers, so she didn't mention it.

"'Ey! Hawkins! C'mere!" Silver called, beckoning to Jim from across the galley.

The younger man responded automatically, forgetting for just the moment that he was no longer the cabin boy, and that particular call in that particular gruff tone no longer required immediate action. Old habit made him cross the room to see what help he could offer, since his hands weren't too full at the moment. "What is it?" he asked the cook.

"Take this up to 'er majesty," he grumbled indicating a perfectly arranged tea service. "Cabin boy got it all laid out and fancy b'fore sommat came up on deck and th' boys needed two more hands. Figger you're as good a mate t'send in as the runt."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "I guess so. What did they need the cabin boy for?"

"Damned if I know," he grumbled, shrugging his broad shoulders. "Ah need 'im back though, if yeh see 'im.. 'e's been draggin' 'is feet all day, actin' like 'e's got the plague or the pox with tha' summer cold in 'is 'ead. I threatened 'im wit' th' doctor, an he perked up a bit," Silver told him.

Jim looked up, meeting the old cyborg's eye. If Nick was bad enough to need a doctor, it was going to be bad news for all. He only hoped she could kick this cold without that kind of attention. "Best to keep him away from the princess then," he agreed, taking the tray.

"S'pose yer right," Silver agreed, flashing a charming grin and getting back to work. Jim took the tray and went out past the crew, across the deck to the cabins. He hadn't seen Alanna in a while… maybe this wouldn't be so bad. On his way he passed Nick working with the other crew members, some of whom had rather cleverly decided to take advantage of her slight build and save themselves some trouble with a wiring problem on the fo'c'sle. It was much easier to explain to her which wires to cut and replace than it was to wedge one of the engineers down there…

But then she coughed and must have sparked herself, because a fluid stream of curses trickled out of the panel, making more than one man blush and the rest laugh uproariously. "Boyo, even _sailors_ don't swear like that," one of them laughed, kicking her leg.

"Then a sailor ought to be down here!" he heard her retort. He shook his head and kept going.

_That's my girl_, he thought with a little smile. Alanna's door hung open, allowing the breeze that came in to escape again through the windows. She sat with her maids, reading and answering correspondence while she awaited tea.

"I'm sorry I'm so late, Majesty," he said, offering a little bow.

She set down her book. "Not to worry. It's too warm for tea today anyway," she sighed.

He didn't know what else to say, and she seemed to be watching him a little too closely, so he decided to attempt a hasty retreat. "Will there be anything else I can get you?" he asked, stepping back toward the door.

"In fact, there is something you can do for me," she said, getting out of her chair. He understood suddenly what Nick had tried to describe when she said he put on the first mate like a jacket… Alanna merely rose from her seat and straightened her spine just so, and there was shift in the air. Authority, command, and power settled around her like a cloak; her face changed and seemed older and much more rigid. She was speaking to him as the Empress now, and no sign of the friendly young woman remained.

"James Pleiades Hawkins, first mate of the RLS Galaxy, do you recognize my authority as the highest commander in this Navy?"

"I do," he managed, watching her with equal parts anxiety and fascination.

Her voice dropped, and he knew that the next words were for the two of them alone. "Then I hereby command you to do absolutely nothing at all, whatsoever, about the current illegal activity being conducted by our ship's cabin boy. You may not speak of it, insinuate it, or draw attention to it. I also command that you do everything in your power to keep her safe, because if you hurt her, or she gets hurt because of you, so help me God…"

The words rang in his ears. He wasn't sure what had just happened. "Does that mean…?"

"I think you have a promising Naval career ahead of you," she said softly, sinking back into her chair and releasing her grip on the room's breathable air. "I'd like to see you able to continue on that path. I don't think that what you've done to protect Nick should stop that. I can't stop them coming after you for it, but I won't deny that I've told you not to report her. Worst case, if they kick you out of the Navy, I'll always need someone to command my private ships," she offered, stirring sugar into her tea.

He blinked. "I'm going to need to process this."

"Whatever you require, sir. Just know that we're in this together. The three of us," she told him. Gold eyes grinned at him over the rim of her cup.

He bowed again dizzily and left the room. He would never, ever understand this woman, if he lived to be a thousand years old.

A clear day, that was good. A clear day, with little wind, good visibility, and the engineers' and navigators' approval. Jim was fairly vibrating with excitement. He had spent a good hour the night before explaining to Nick that he was going to test a theory that the Galaxy was actually capable of far more than the crew had ever been able to push her to do. The men had been redistributing weight in the hold, and on the deck, and jettisoning whatever excess weight it was safe to discharge. She had lain in her hammock, watching him talk with his hands, pacing the room, and had curled around a smile. He had no idea how adorable he could be. Half his jargon went over her head, but his enthusiasm was contagious. Even Ishmael had caught on, and barked approvingly when Jim smacked his fist into his palm to make a point.

Now, in the light of day, she stood in the waist of the ship feeling utterly useless as the men prepared to test-drive a few of Jim's theories. They were going to see what sort of speed they could make, if necessary, and what a sharp turn might do.

The sudden need to test the ship's capabilities hadn't been completely lost on Nick. She knew there was something amiss, something that Jim felt the need to be able to run from. She could fill in the rest. The Helios's crew hadn't been able to outrun it, but Jim planned to.

She looked up at the foc's'le where he stood surveying his men, and felt a flutter in her stomach. He belonged up there, she saw that immediately. He belonged at the forefront of things, making decisions, calling out orders, in charge of everything… She couldn't imagine him looking as perfectly suited to anything else as long as he lived.

Piers elbowed her out of the way as he passed, waking her from a slightly dangerous trance. She immediately shot him a glare, calling out to Adamson and asking for a job, hoping that it made it clear to all that she had been awaiting orders. She hoped desperately that it hadn't been obvious that she had been watching the first mate. Or if it had been obvious, that it looked like she was awaiting orders.

Adamson came over nearer to her, still watching the progress as the ship readied for "launch". "If you need to do something, go down in the galley and ask the cook. If you want to stay up here, keep your head down and stay quiet," he advised. "This is as delicate as anything we'll ever have to do, and you can't be distracting anybody about their business. You've been on a longboat ride with the man, right?" he asked, letting a little of a smile creep into his eyes as she looked up in surprise.

"Yes," she allowed.

"Then you know what job needs doing."

"Praying?" she offered, smirking.

He chuckled, nudged her with his elbow and moved on to correct someone else, letting her slip away into the shadows. She found her way to the rail of the ship, looking over the side, watching the school of skyfish gliding beneath the ship in a shimmering, flashing cloud.

"All hands to stations!" came the forceful call from the foc's'le.

A chorus of ayes sounded from the deck. Jim turned to the horn that connected him to the engine room. "Engines, full speed!" he shouted.

Nick heard the hum of the engines build to a roar, and the whole ship seemed to strain with the effort. Their speed increased slowly, struggling to allow the engines to push them forward.

"We're gonna have to make a launch," she heard Jim say quietly, looking around at the crew and up into the rigging. "Prepare to cast off! Loose the sails!"

The riggers scrambled to loose the few sails that were tied down, and a few men on deck looked at Jim as though he were mad. "But Mr. Hawkins, in space, without a gravity field—"

He made a dismissive motion with his hand, and their protests were cut off. Nick felt a little thrill sing in her blood. This was just like Jim. This was dangerous, and highly discouraged, and probably impossible.

Which only told her he was convinced it would work.

"Engines, prepare to launch!" he called into the horn, and ignore the squawked protests coming from below. After the protests died down she heard and felt the thrusters emerge, and she felt their hum shudder through the whole ship. She was fair humming herself, elated by the danger and excitement he was creating.

The hum grew until it sounded like the ship would combust. She looked up, waiting for the signal. His eyes met hers across the deck, and a little smirk played on his lips. "Brace yourselves," he called out to the crew. Then he turned to the horn.

"_Punch it!"_

The ship quivered for a moment, then rocketed forward with a force that knocked the majority of the crew to their backsides on the deck. They shot forward at a reckless speed, even faster and more uncontrollable than a launch, because she had no gravity field to fight against. The ship sped through the sky with Jim at helm and every man hanging on for dear life, the ship herself protesting vehemently.

A deep, bellowing crack rent the air like thunder, and the deck shuddered. The ship lost speed, and slowly, slowly lost speed until she was drifting along at something more like her normal speed. Jim's laugh rang out over the deck, clear and deep, with the purest joy she'd ever heard. "Excellent!" he cried, clapping his hands together. "Excellent work, men! That was fantastic!"

An angry voice called him several remarkable names through the horn, but as the men found their footing again and began to clean up the deck it was established that he'd merely blown a few fuses in the thrusters and thrown some interesting kinks into the engines' lines. Nothing was irreparably damaged.

For the first time in a while, Jim's face was clear and happy. There was no line between his dark brows, no grey ghost of worry under his eyes. He was smiling and laughing and walking on sunshine, having found his escape at last. He called Adamson up to see to the righting of the deck, and hurried past Nick on his way down to the engine room, already planning aloud the fortifications and reinforcements they'd put in place in order to make sure the ship could handle another mid-space launch.

Nick fought hard to keep the pride off her face, until she noticed it in the faces of the men around her. He was an utter madman, they said. A loose screw. A lunatic.

But he was _their_ madman.


	22. Chapter 18: SAY WHEN

**CHAPTER 18: SAY WHEN**

It wasn't that she was a light sleeper, or that he was a particularly noisy insomniac, but the sound of bare feet on the wood floor was enough to rouse Nick this particular time.

"Where are you going?" she yawned, lifting her head from the pillow to squint at him through the darkness.

"I was going to go down to the galley," he whispered back. "Go back to sleep."

"Are you okay?" she asked, scrubbing her face with the heel of her hand and sniffling.

"I'm fine. Go back to sleep."

"What time is it?"

"They just sounded first bells," he sighed, tossing his shirt on top of the dresser, then sitting back down on his bed and leaning back against the wall.

She strung together a sleepy oath and hit the pillow again with a thump. "Can't sleep?"

"Not lately."

"Can't blame you," she agreed, rolling to her back and looking over. "Hard to live with this kind of... of unknown," she added with another yawn.

"It could happen tomorrow," he admitted. "Or next week. Or never. How are we supposed to just go on with business as usual?"

She was quiet for a little while, until he thought she had gone back to sleep. Then she sighed. "Just have to appreciate the peace while it lasts, I guess."

He leaned back on the wall and closed his eyes. "That's really, really hard to do."

Nick shrugged one shoulder. "I know. But the alternative is to lose sleep waiting for the battle."

"I'm going to go with that one," he said, his smile bitter.

She sighed heavily. "But then what happens when it's over?" she asked.

He opened his arms, and without thinking twice she left her hammock and crossed the room to him. She laid her cheek on his bare shoulder and felt his nose in her hair, their arms around one another as though they had never belonged anywhere else.

"We pick up the pieces and try to put them back together," Jim said softly.

"Do you... Do you think your pieces and my pieces will still... go together?" she asked, blushing a little.

"I sure hope so. I'd really like to find out," he replied, kissing her hair.

"Me too," she admitted, closing her eyes.

The next thing Nick knew, the sun was peeking in the porthole and shining on her face. She wrinkled her nose and buried her face in the pillow, snuggling deeper under her blankets. Jim's arm tightened around her waist, tucking her closer to him.

… Jim's… arm…

She froze in place, slowly unburying her face and glancing down. His arm was wrapped around her belly, his hand underneath her side. His bare chest was pressed firmly against her back, and his blankets were pulled up over both of them. She shifted slightly. All of her clothes were in place.

"_Jim..._" she hissed, her face flooding with color. "_Jim… _wake _up..._"

He drew in a long, deep breath. "Unless you plan on making it worth waking up, no."

"Jim!"

"Nope. You can't make me."

Nick scowled and tried to wiggle out of his embrace. This was so embarrassing… What if someone had come in looking for him? What if they had been caught like this? Not only would she be caught, but it just looked so… so… _scandalous_. Despite their having the majority of their clothes on, snuggling up in one bunk was _far_ too intimate for her comfort.

But Jim seemed to be just fine and cozy, and held her down tightly as he nuzzled into the back of her neck. "Nick, relax…" he sighed.

She tensed to scold him, prepared to be upset, and he laid a little kiss on the back of her neck and deflated all of her irritation. "Why?" she whispered.

"Because no one ever barges into the first mate's cabin," he whispered back. "Ever. So unless you're getting up to get coffee..."

She rolled her eyes. "And no one ever will, right?"

"They're creatures of protocol. Shut up and relax."

Nick sighed heavily and let the matter drop, closing her eyes and relaxing back into a light sleep in his arms. It was hard to imagine that just a few months ago she had been so averse to setting foot in this room, with this man. Her life was so different now, and hopefully soon it would change yet again…

She dozed until the bells rang to tell her she was running out of time to get down to the galley. "Jim… I have to get up now," she whispered, carefully rolling over in his embrace to face him.

He stirred slowly, stretching back and reluctantly blinking his eyes open. "I slept like a rock," he grinned, sitting up.

A hesitant smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. "Me too… but don't make a habit of this…" she warned. "I should have gone back to the hammock."

"Tonight. Maybe."

Nick shook her head, hoping he was teasing. Well, mostly hoping he was teasing. She eased her way out of the bed and went to find her boots and straighten herself out. It was going to be harder than usual to keep her head around him today, but she was fairly sure it would be worth it.

He dragged himself upright as she was getting her second boot on and stretched for his jacket, digging in the pocket. She pulled her own jacket on, watching him with a furrowed brow. "What are you doing?"

He came up with something in his fist, and got to his feet with a yawn. "Forgot something. Close your eyes."

She frowned, but obeyed. He slipped something over her head, something cool and fine, and then it pressed into the back of her neck as he pulled her in for sweet kiss. When she opened her eyes and looked down his hand was open, palm up, and an elegant silver chain spilled through his fingers.

It was the chain from the jeweler on Caerow. Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. "Jim," she breathed, absolutely stunned.

"Right, like you thought I had a girl waiting back home," he joked, though his grin showed he was pleased by her reaction. "Get to work, Silver is going to be mad as hell if you're late."

She flushed and grinned, tucking the chain down the front of her shirt for now. It was very long, reaching nearly to her navel, and though she knew it was a stupid risk she couldn't bring herself to take it off. She hurried off to the galley with a smile on her lips that she just couldn't hide.

Nick sat on the end of the bench, her legs crossed and her back against the wall. Silver was telling a story, and the crew was held captive by the tale. Bit gutsy of Silver to tell the legend of Treasure Planet on this particular ship, but apparently she was the only one who caught the irony.

"Can you believe this guy?" came a loud whisper to her left.

Apparently not the _only_ one.

"I don't think anyone's ever heard this version. Did you know that Flint was a paranoid delusional maniac?"

"It occurred to me right about the time I broke his skeletal fingers off to retrieve the memory chip of a marooned Bio-Electronic Navigator," Jim quipped, giving her a grin. They listened in for a few more minutes, until he got to the part about the pirates tracking the map to a little inn on Montressor.

"I can't believe he's telling this story," she whispered back, shaking her head and looking down into her cup.

"He's never been the subtle type," he acknowledged, sitting down beside her boots on the bench. They were quiet through the rest of the tale, until Silver wrapped up with an almost heartbroken admission that the Loot of a Thousand Worlds was lost forever, blown to smithereens by Flint's greed and fear.

The men chuckled and clapped, and stretched out a bit. "Hawkins, what's your take? Did he get it right?" one man called over. Much as the story of Treasure Planet had remained mostly legend, Jim's part in the tale had not been lost to history.

"Better than I could tell it. I'm glad the part about the wimpy teenager got downplayed in the legend," he laughed.

The rest of the men laughed, and a few cheered for another story, but Silver threw up his hands. "Ah'm done, lads. There's better tellers than I."

"Adamson, tell that one about the girl from Pelsinor, with the huge—" A round of laughter and catcalls cut off the end of the request, but Nick blushed anyway. Moder noticed and laughed even harder, elbowing Joche. They all talked over one another for a while, everyone relaxing and killing time before shifts changed. Eventually another story began, and the room fell quiet as it captured attention. Nick was engrossed, discovering a whole new library of legends from the home planets of the other men. She sat through two more tall tales before she realized Moder and Joche were watching her instead of the storyteller.

"What?!" she asked defensively.

"You just looked like a kid at Festival. Staying up late, listening to stories… You crack me up sometimes," Moder teased.

Jim laughed, elbowing her. "Do you have a story to tell next?"

She scowled and drained her formerly-hot cocoa. "No. I'm not a storyteller."

Joche gave her an encouraging grin. "You don't have any stories from the spaceport? No daring deeds or high adventure?"

"Nothing comes to mind," she replied dryly.

They laughed and teased, and suddenly a flood of stories burst forth, men talking about their adventures in her spaceport and others, and the drinking, gambling and women thereof. She'd gotten herself a trip down memory lane.

Jim raised an eyebrow at her suddenly serious expression. "So, how many of these guys are completely bullshitting?" he whispered.

She, Moder and Joche laughed, and several others listening in protested their honesty. A good natured debate broke out, and Nick was once again lost in the hullabaloo.

She watched Jim laughing and bantering with his men, and felt her spirits lift. Moder gave her a nod of approval, and she grinned back. She had made peace.

Though not quite the way he expected.

Nick had never heard anything so loud in her life. The siren seemed to come from all sides, piercing her eardrums and making her very bones rattle. She sat straight up in bed, nearly toppling out of her hammock, and through the wailing of the alarm heard Jim swear colorfully. He leapt up from his bed, grabbed his boots and jammed them on, and grabbed his shirt from the end of the bed. By now, Nick was out of bed too, standing on bare toes to reach him and try to get his attention.

Suddenly he turned to her, grabbing her by her upper arms, looking like he'd only just remembered she was there. "Nick," he shouted, to be heard over the siren, "find Silver and stay with him! Stay out of the way! He'll keep you-"

A huge crash interrupted the rest of his sentence, and the whole ship shuddered with the impact. They were nearly knocked off their feet. Nick tucked herself against his bare chest, and he wrapped her up tightly in his arms until the tremors stopped.

"Stay safe," he said into her hair, in the ringing silence that followed the death of the siren. "Find Silver. I'll find you after this is over."

She nodded, pulling back to look up at him. He was glazing over, becoming the officer again. She was losing him quickly. Training and responsibility would have him soon. She stepped on the toes of his boots and pushed herself up for a kiss, then let him tear himself away and rush out on the deck to answer the call of duty.

She ran out after him, forgetting her boots and jacket in her haste to find the cook. She tore through the rushing crowds of men and padded down the galley steps, finding the captain and cook standing by the stove.

"I know precisely what I'm asking," the captain said deliberately. "I'm no fool. Your history is too colorful to be painted over by a new set of hardware."

For the first time since she met him, Silver was speechless. "B-but sir..."

"Friends close, enemies closer," the captain said, raising a hand to cut off protest. "Been five years since you made a peep, and you walked right onto my ship. Figured, why not? But now I need this favor."

Silver nodded, respect dawning. "Yeh 'ave my word. On what honor I 'ave left."

"That'll be plenty. Come along, boy," he added, beckoning Nick.

She followed numbly as he led them through the underbelly of the ship to the longboats. She stood between the men, looking up in surprise to see Monteblanc helping Alanna and her maids down another passage. Nick realized in that moment how terribly real this was. Her throat closed up and she edged closer to Silver, who laid a hand on her back.

"I have t' do this. Get yerself t' hiding.. Yer no use in a fight," he teased, trying to smile.

She nodded.

"Keep 'im safe," he added softly, and she felt her knees weaken. He was going to protect the princess. He was trusting her to protect Jim.

He was leaving her.

She nodded, biting the inside of her lip till it bled, stifling the part of her that wanted to cry out with terror and uncertainty. Nicole had no place here. It was time to fight.

They split the three women into three longboats, each with a bodyguard. They all wore a shawl of pale ivory wrapped around golden hair, and it occurred to Nick for the first time that the maids resembled Alanna in every important way. They were the same height, the same build, the same colors… they had been handpicked as decoys. Even now they sat in their longboats with the dignity of a princess, and when they looked down or away even Nick couldn't tell which one was which.

It was brilliant. No one could catch all three longboats, and no one could know which was the right one. Monteblanc climbed in with Alanna, Silver with Natalya, and Jürgen with Mignonette. Monteblanc was by far the largest, but the other two were of similar builds and honestly, no one would be able to tell at a distance that one bodyguard differed from another.

They all froze as the ship shuddered and groaned, then slammed forward. Nick felt a little smile on her lips as she picked herself up off the ground. Jim's plan was working…

The ship stayed accelerated for several minutes, while they all held on tightly. Then the same booming crack rang out in the dark, and they were nearly thrown to the floor again by the sudden slowing.

"Time to go," the captain announced briskly. Nick and the captain rushed to launch all three longboats as close to simultaneously as possible. It seemed to take only seconds to drop them into the inky blackness, and then they vanished. The boats split off in three directions, and Nick breathed a quick prayer that the deception would succeed. The captain caught his breath as she picked her way back toward the controls where he stood. By then, the siren was ringing out again.

The captain worked furiously, launching several more empty boats in different directions. The sound of other ships around them grew to an ominous rumble, and were suddenly accompanied by shots firing and the shouts of war.

"We have to go above. That bought us some time, but they'll be on us any minute," he informed her. The gunshots and pounding of feet grew louder, interspersed now with the screams of the dead and dying. Nick felt her heart leap into her throat. His voice was sad and soft. "I can only hope we moved quickly eno-"

Another explosion rocked the ship, and fire bloomed in the blackness beneath the longboat bay. Nick and the captain were thrown from their feet, blinking smoke from their eyes and watching in horror as a set of spindly mechanical legs reached up into the hold and dug in, anchoring a smaller ship to the Galaxy's belly.

Men began pouring forth from the attacking ship. Nick was on her feet immediately, searching around for any kind of weapon... She didn't even have her knife, since she kept it in her boot. She dashed back toward a wall, hoping to buy herself some time in the shroud of darkness.

The captain recovered quickly, shooting into the surge of bodies and slowing their progress up the stairs and into his ship. The sound of battle raged on the upper deck, and Nick could only pray the rest of the crew wasn't as hopelessly outmatched as they were. She crept out from her corner, planning to edge up the stairs and get backup for the captain (even bringing back a kitchen knife would make her feel less helpless) when a man emerged from the bay doors and fear choked the breath from her.

He was enormously tall, angular, and gaunt, with a stringy, greasy look to him. He wore only black and deep purple, which emphasized the sickly green tinge in his muddy brown skin. He had an oversized black hat, as tattered and threadbare as the rest of his clothes, with a stringy red feather flopping out to the side. His six yellowed eyes darted around the room, watching as his men swarmed up the bay stairs and into the galley.

She stood frozen, with one foot on the stair, watching his face. Every story she had ever heard about the pirate Flint had given her nightmares, and not one of those measured up to the man before her. The chill that swept her skin was fear, certainty and resignation all at once. There was no hint of humanity in his eyes. No sense of mercy, not even a glimpse of sanity.

This man would happily slaughter their crew. Just like he'd done to the Helios. And he wouldn't lose a wink of sleep.

She watched in horror as his men pinned the captain to the wall, a gun under his chin, blood trickling from a wound above his eye.

"Who be ye?" Archer rumbled, moving closer at a leisurely pace. Like a sunday stroll...

"Captain Jonathon Trelawney, of Her Majesty's Navy," he ground out.

"Pleased t' make yer acquaintance," the tall man purred, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels like a schoolboy.

"Can't say the same," the captain growled.

The man laughed, shaking his head. "Nay, Ah shouldn't think so. Name of Archer. Most that make my acquaintance regret it. Now tell me, where's the princess?"

Trelawney smiled, and shook his head. "Now, you know I can't tell you that. Death before dishonor, and whatnot. But you'll never have her, lad. No matter how hard you try. No matter what you do."

Nick could feel the rage bubbling up in Archer, like a disease that tainted the air. "Cap'n, ye said?" he purred, pacing a little.

Trelawney nodded, the pistol muzzle bumping his chin.

Archer looked to the man holding the gun. Nick cried out in protest as he dropped his chin curtly, and realized that all eyes were on her just as the trigger was pulled. All eyes but Archer's.

She panicked and ran for the stairs. The pirates chased after her as she crashed through the kitchen, grabbing blindly for the block of knives and flinging them into the attackers. She wounded a few, but they overwhelmed her even more easily than the captain. She kicked and bit and screamed and stabbed until it took four of them to hold her still, because she was no longer touching the ground. Archer's face appeared over the crowd. "You lads to the deck, and round up the lambs. You there, sweep the cabins and turn out any that remain. We dinna want anyone t' miss the excitement," he chuckled before turning to look down on her.

"Cabin boy," he smirked. "I'll bet I just killed your hero, eh? I was a cabin boy once, and I worshipped my captain. Until I killed him too," he admitted, chuckling. But then his eye roamed her, and he tipped his head slightly as he grew curious. He looked at the men holding her feet, and they released her to stand on her own.

She sucked on a split lip, barely breathing as his finger reached out and caressed the fine chain that lay at her collarbone, then followed the line of a tear in the neck of her shirt. His touch skimmed the sweaty skin of her chest, tracing a swell that ought to have been hidden by her clothes. She closed her eyes, her whole body straining against the bruising grips of her captors, panic welling in her chest. A knuckle grazed her neck as he grabbed her shirt and pulled it forward, peering down at her bound torso.

A low whistle of appreciation rang in the air and the men chuckled. "As yer captain," he drawled, and Nick could hear his smirk, "Ah get first pick of spoils of war. Ah'd appreciate it if ye all left this particular spoil intact," he grinned, and she felt sick at the look he gave her. "Tie 'er up and gag 'er, and keep 'er down 'ere. We 'ave t' go meet the rest of the crew. I'll find out what you know later, lovie."

Nick screamed again as they lifted her onto the table, kicking and thrashing, trying to warn the crew, trying to get free, trying to escape the horrifying fact of her capture.

Jim tried to shut his ears to the screams, the sounds of his massacred crew, shut his mind to the fact of his failure as a leader...

It was no consolation that they'd killed at least two pirates for every man he'd lost. Ship after ship of men had boarded the Galaxy. They'd been vastly outnumbered, and decimated. His men were being rounded up and herded to the waist of the ship, the captain was nowhere to be found, and the pirates were searching every inch of the ship for Alanna. The battle was lost, and they were either about to be executed, or questioned. Not a man on board would trade his life for the princess's, so neither of those ended happily.

Jim was beaten half to hell, but was pleased to see that everyone who had taken him on looked much worse. He ran a subtle test and found everything bruised but in working order. He was able to fight. His mind was made up. If his ship was lost, and he was going to die, he was going to clear the deck in the process.

They pushed him along with the other men, back to the mast, in a huddle of shame and pain surrounded by pistol- and sword-wielding pirates. He saw the sickening figure of their leader as he swaggered up onto the deck, surveying the damage.

_Flint,_ was his first stunned thought. Then his adrenaline surged, and he lunged toward his enemy. Several pirates converged on him, and while he took two out with a third's pistol, and another with his fist, he was very quickly outmatched. Two held his arms while a third delivered a blow to his stomach that dropped him to his knees. Archer saw him and smirked, giving a smug little wave. He approached the mast after the whole crew was secured, circling them, surveying them...

"'Ello, mates," he drawled. "This is yer cap'n speaking."

That statement stunned them with its simplicity, its implication... Jim felt his stomach turn, his head spin. The captain... dead?

"Ah know be'er than t' think ye'll surrender. Ah've already learned about yer "death b'fore dishonor" policy. An' Ah'm prepared t' let the majority of ye live... If ye'll tell me where the princess be."

The silence that filled the deck was deafening. Jim had never been prouder of his men.

Archer snarled just slightly, pulling a pistol from his coat. Pearl inlay on the handle, gold filigree on the muzzle.. and enough dark rust-colored stains to alleviate any doubt that it served its purpose.

"First mate!" Archer called out, pointing his gun into the sky. "Step forward please, m'lad,"

Jim immediately got to his feet, despite being restrained, and faced down the pistol as it came to hover in his direction. He stared into Archer's eyes as the gun was leveled at his heart. He couldn't hide his contempt, or his pride in his men. His jaw tightened and he raised his chin. The gun moved to his forehead. Neither man spoke. Jim only stared.

"First mate, eh?" Archer asked, smirking. "Ah could tell. Sense o' duty. Strong man. Willin' t' die for 'is empire. Like 'is captain?"

The pistol moved to the forehead of the man to Jim's right. Jim's expression darkened, and Archer's grew almost gleeful.

"Where is she?" he demanded. The man took a slow, deliberate breath, but didn't answer. Archer's nostrils flared, and the pistol went off.

The man beside Jim dropped to the deck, blood pouring from his shoulder. From the green color he turned, Jim knew he'd live... for the moment.

"Where is she?" Archer demanded of the next man in the line, veins standing out on his forehead. That man stayed silent also. He was shot in the knee.

The rage built in the pirate captain as he made his way around the crowd. It became a palpable presence, hovering around him as he moved. Some silences earned two shots. Some men were shot for another's silence. Some were shot for their own. Every shot was into a major muscle or a joint, designed for agony, not death. Not one man spoke, though some cried out.

Archer circled back around to Jim, his eyes fixed on Jim's face. "Ye'd die fer yer princess. And ye'd let yer men die for her. Very well. Ah'm not wastin' more time and ammo on yer stubborn selves."

Jim's eyes hardened.

He put the gun to another man's ear. "Yer cabin boy. Young lad, about yea tall," he asked, indicating his chest, "and fair young? Fifteen, would yeh say?" he asked, watching Jim's face. Jim was very careful to reveal nothing. Silver had her. She was safe. She had to be.

"S-sixteen?" the man offered, not sure that Nick's age was as worth dying over as the princess's location.

"Lovely." He turned to Jim, motioning to his men. "After all, Ah don't plan t' kill the princess. Just make 'er nervous. But it seems someone else might know what yeh all refuse t' share, seeing as he was down in the hold with yer cap'n a bare half hour ago. I'll just have to ask the lad…"

Two of his men dragged a skinny, bound figure forward from the galley steps and hauled him up until his feet barely touched the ground. Archer drew a knife and held it to his chin until his head could go no further back. Then the knife swung down and slit the figure's shirt down the front. Bandage around the chest couldn't hide curves that shouldn't have been there. She curled to hide herself. Navy blue eyes were wide, and he heard a breath hitch against the gag.

"..or lass, as the case may be," Archer pronounced.

Before the words were even out of his mouth, Jim had lunged forward, his soul rent in two. He surged against the pirates holding him until something in his shoulder popped. A third pirate stepped in to help, but Jim didn't notice. He would tell Archer everything... He could tell him nothing... He felt like he had imploded. The whole universe had shifted. He couldn't be two people. He couldn't have two sets of priorities. One had to come first. The two men collided within him. Both were trapped, watching Archer level the gun at Nick's temple. Feeling the pirates' grip on his arms and feeling willing to give up everything if it meant he could cross the deck and get that gun away from her.

"Ye weren't even surprised!" Archer crowed. "Ye knew! Oh, this is rich!"

Nick closed her eyes, and Jim was wrenched back into reality. They dragged him back, tying ropes to his wrists and securing them through the rings embedded in the wood of the deck. He was strung out almost spread-eagle, and completely at the mercy of the men holding him. Archer pocketed his gun and shifted his grip on the knife. He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back, tracing a delicate trail from just below her ear down her throat. The other men released her, and Archer pulled her close to his body. Jim felt sick. Sicker than he'd ever felt in his life.

"How long 'ave ye known?" Archer asked softly. "Days? Long enough t' feel protective? Weeks? Longer? Long enough t' care?" He lowered the knife, tracing her collarbone, the ridge of her breastbone. A red line appeared on her skin in his wake. "Long enough t' be driven mad when I tie 'er to a table down in th' gallery and take her? This's gettin' be'er by th' minute..." he laughed.

He pulled Nick against him and pressed his mouth to her ear, whispering something Jim couldn't hear, but he watched her eyes widen with fear and panic. He lunged again, his body protesting pain as the ropes held him fast.

Archer laughed and laughed, growing more clearly unstable by the moment. He sliced her gag and threw it aside.

"What's yer name, poppet?" he purred, loud enough to let Jim hear. She clenched her jaw and turned her head away from his foul breath.

The knife pressed into the soft flesh under her chin, and blood trickled down her neck. "Nick!" she gasped through her teeth, writhing away from the pain.

The knife went into his pocket and the gun reemerged. "Nick? Very nice. Short fer sommat prettier, Ah'll wager." The gun cocked, and Jim realized it was leveled at his own head. "And 'is name?"

Jim saw her start to crack. Graphic promises and pain hadn't done it, but her gaze followed the barrel of the pistol and met Jim's, and she sagged in Archer's grip.

"Jim," she whispered, looking away.

"Jim _what_?" he demanded.

She was silent, and Archer cocked the pistol. "Hawkins," Jim supplied.

The pirate looked up, his smile wide once more. "Yeh don' say? _The_ Jim Hawkins? Beggin' yer pardon, sir. Ah should 'ave practiced mah curtsey. No matter."

Archer dragged her forward, pulling her in front of him and stopping so close to Jim that he could have touched her if his hands were free.

Archer pulled her hair again, putting the pistol under her chin. "Go on, mate. Tell 'er it'll be okay. Tell 'er that ye'll save 'er, Jim."

"You are the sickest son of a-"

"Ah-ah, not what Ah've asked," he taunted, the pistol pressing up under her chin until she stood on her toes. Her eyes were shut tightly. Jim could see the tears on her cheeks.

"It'll be okay.." he whispered. "I'm sorry."

The man laughed as though Jim had told the funniest joke. But his cackle cut off sharply. "Where is she?" he growled.

Nick's eyes flew open and she clenched her jaw against barrel of the gun. Then she shook her head.

Archer saw Jim look down at her, felt her shake her head, and boiled over. "D'ye think I'm joking, lass?" he roared. He shook her like a rag doll as he turned her around, backed her against the rampart and pressed the gun to her forehead until she was leaning over the rail.

"I think you're insane," she spat.

"Care t' find out?"

"She's not on the ship!" Jim shouted.

"He's lying!" Nick countered, her bare toes hardly touching the deck as Archer pressed her harder.

"Oh, see how easy that was?" he asked, suddenly calm again, lowering her back down. "What'll ye tell me once she starts beggin' ye t' save 'er?" he asked Jim, a smirk growing. She wrestled against his grip, but Archer laughed again and dragged her away. "Lovie, I already knew she wasn't on board, or my men woulda found 'er. Yer doin' yerself no favors, tellin' me tales." His smirk was deadly sweet. "Take 'er below," he commanded his men.

Nick screamed with a primal, gut-wrenching fear as they grabbed at her, hauling her bodily into the galley.

"No! Stop!" Jim roared, straining at his bonds.

Archer laughed again. "Oh, ye can come too.. Ah'll need t' know where on the ship she's hiding.."

"Sir!" one of the pirates cried out. "Look!"

Everyone on deck stopped and strained to see. In the not-so-far distance was a fleet of large ships. Closing that distance very rapidly was a much smaller ship, with a Myamin flag at the mast.

Archer looked around. Jim could practically hear his thoughts, they were so clear on his face. Did he have enough men to hold a ship this size? He looked up at the fleet. Not for long. He swore viciously. Jim couldn't help a little grin. Archer saw, and lifted his chin in defiance. "Shove off, men. And give me the poppet."

They gladly obeyed, rounding those of his men that were still able to stand against the mast and lashing them to it and each other, then loading up all the ships but one and launching into the night. They tied Jim's bonds in knots around the rings, then left him. Archer stood in silence, eyes locked on Jim until the last ship was gone.

"D'ye think ye've won?" he asked softly, hauling Nick forward by her elbow. "D'ye think it's been worth holding yer silence? Ah don't give up easy. Ah'll be back. All yeh've done is bought your princess a few days, mebbe a month. And yeh've paid in blood. Now, Ah'll ask once more."

The gun clicked, the muzzle pressed into the smooth flesh under Nick's tried in vain to squirm away from it. "Where's the princess?"

Jim's mouth went dry. "I don't know," he admitted.

"Try again!" Archer screamed, spitting with rage.

"I don't know!" Jim shouted back, beginning to panic.

"Yer lying!" Archer roared, shaking Nick in his grip.

"She got away!" Jim yelled.

The gunshot was deafening.

"Be'er 'ope they get 'ere quick," Archer said calmly, dropping her to the deck. "She ain't gonna last."

Jim stopped breathing. He was shaking. Archer could have lit the ship on fire under his feet and Jim wouldn't have noticed anything except the look on Nick's face. She was on her knees, her arms still bound behind her, and she looked down at her stomach in disbelief. The blood already covered the majority of her torso, and was dripping onto the deck. He could see the torn edges of the wound, and the flash of a white rib.

"Nick, they're coming," he choked, aware that every man on the deck was listening. "You'll be okay." Did they know he was lying? "Just hold on!"

She winced and closed her eyes, curling around her belly, and he knew the shock was wearing off. She didn't scream. "Nick!" he begged, his voice rough as he surged against the ropes again. "Just hold on! Nick!"

Her eyes found his face, and she opened her mouth, but the words died on her lips. He watched the light leave her eyes as she fell to her side, her knees tucked up toward her chest.

There was a clamor aboard the ship as the Myamins docked alongside the Galaxy.

The wounded cried out as they were moved, as triage was set up and field treatment began.

They surrounded Nick, and he couldn't see her anymore. He struggled with the men who freed him, who tried to check him over and tagged him green- no immediate treatment needed. He threw himself at the group of them as they blocked her from his view. He could hear someone calling her name, over and over, and it wasn't until he paused for breath that he realized it was him. They had tagged her... she had two glowing tags. A black _and_ a red. She was critical, or dead. They didn't know which?

Dead.

One of their men tried to push him back to get him out of the way, and Jim knocked him ass over teakettle on the deck. It took several more men and the threat of being locked in the brig before he stopped trying to throw them out of the way to get to Nick. He stood back silently and watched as they carried her away, both tags glowing faintly in the dark.

All he could think about was the fact that she hadn't made a sound.


	23. Chapter 19: TOO LITTLE

**CHAPTER 19: TOO LITTLE**

_0500_

Jim lost track of utterly everything. He couldn't have said with any certainty how long it had been since they were brought aboard the Myamin ship. He didn't know which ship he was on, or how he'd find his way back through the halls, or even whom to ask for directions- all of their officers looked the same to him. He hadn't eaten a thing they brought to him, and had barely made it through his debriefing.

They told him he was the captain now. He had a ship to repair, and a crew to take charge of. The sooner he stepped up, the better, but they would handle things until he recovered.

He looked down impatiently when his left arm sent a bolt of pain through him. The doctor had said something about a sprained shoulder, and insisted he wear a sling. He was quickly losing patience with the damned thing, and was trying to find a way to dispose of it.

Much of his crew was in surgery or in the infirmaries scattered across several ships in the fleet, and Silver had been asked to help with a handful of emergency amputations and cyborg replacements.

Jim knew this because Alanna felt it necessary to keep a running commentary. She hadn't been quiet for longer than a breath or two since she had appeared at his side... however long ago it had been.

He had met four captains and several first mates. Every single time she introduced him as Captain Hawkins, his stomach rolled.

A list of the confirmed dead had been given to him at some point. It was still in his hand. There were creases and stains from his tight grip on the parchment. He hadn't read it. He didn't want to know. He would have to write those letters today or tomorrow.

Someone put a tin cup of coffee and a plate with bread and cheese in front of him. He stared at it for a moment, then managed to express thanks. He finally laid the list down beside it.

It had to be over soon. This nightmare. He would wake up eventually. He would wake up in his bunk with Nick sleeping beside him, curled up tight and...

He opened his eyes. The sweet memory had been tainted with the image of her lying on her side on the deck, bleeding out from a gunshot wound.

Alanna was still talking. Jim left the coffee and plate on the desk and wandered off to see if he could be useful somewhere. She followed. He went to the sick bay to talk to the men who had escaped with only stitches and bruises and broken bones. Alanna was undeterred, and did more to lift their spirits than he did. Someone asked Jim if it was true about the cabin boy. He left the room without a word.

Alanna caught up to him down the hall, still babbling. He stopped suddenly and whirled on her.

"Alanna! Shut. Up!" he hissed. Her eyes went wide, and she looked almost terrified. He hadn't meant for that to happen. Where was her bodyguard? Jim realized they were utterly alone in the corridor. It appeared to be connected in some way to the laundry.

Why had he been walking here?

He scowled at her. "Shouldn't you be with your bodyguard? Or your prince? Leave me alone."

"No," she replied.

He didn't like that. "Alanna. Your _majesty_. Get out of my face," he spat.

"No."

"Why the hell not?"

She lifted her chin, and he saw how young she was. Far younger than he felt right now. "Nick would never forgive me if I left you to brood and blame yourself," she said.

He felt a muscle twitch in his cheek as he set his jaw. "Don't use her against me right now," he warned.

"I'm not. It's the truth. It wasn't your fault, Jim."

"Stop it. I'm not kidding. Get lost. I don't want to talk to you right now. I just need space," he said firmly.

"Where are you going?"

He whirled on her and swung his arm out wide. "_SHE'S DEAD!_" he roared. "_She's dead, Alanna!_ Leave me alone!"

Her eyes went wide and she stepped back, shocked by his vehemence. He turned away and ran shaking hands through his hair. Raw emotion rocked through him, and he heard his own words echoing down the corridor. His throat was tight.

"I could slap you," she spat.

He turned again, looking at her over his shoulder in surprise.

"Are you upset for her, or for yourself?" she asked him, her voice shaking slightly.

His jaw dropped open.

"Don't you scream at me because you think I don't understand, Jim. At least be honest about why you're upset."

Tears prickled in his eyes and he set his jaw hard, straightening his back. "I'm upset because I just watched a madman torture my… torture her. And then he used her against me. And then I let him shoot her. I've seen that kind of wound before. People don't just get up and walk away from that. And I… I let him do that to her," he ground out.

She swallowed hard and let a tear slip down her cheek. "And who are you angry with?" She laughed bitterly. "You're allowed to say it's me."

He shook his head and swiped at his eye with the knuckle of his thumb. "It's not you. I'm angry with myself. She trusted me. I promised her…" His voice cracked. "He made me tell her she'd be okay."

_The pistol pressed up under her chin until she stood on her toes. Her eyes were shut tightly. Jim could see the tears on her cheeks. "It'll be okay.." he whispered. "I'm sorry._

He looked up to find Alanna with her fingers pressed to her lips, taking a deep breath. His stomach turned. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I shouldn't do this.."

"No, no. Don't apologize," she replied, looking up.

He closed his eyes and pinched his nose.

_The gun clicked, the muzzle pressed into the smooth flesh under Nick's ribs. She tried in vain to squirm away from it. "Where's the princess?"_

_Jim's mouth went dry. "I don't know," he admitted._

_"Try again!" Archer screamed, spitting with rage._

_"I don't know!" Jim shouted back, beginning to panic._

_"Yer lying!" Archer roared, shaking Nick in his grip._

_"She got away!" Jim yelled._

_The gunshot was deafening._

"I can't do this, Alanna," he told her, looking up. "I can't. Pass me over. Please. Give the ship to Adamson."

"I _can't_, Jim. I can't do that," she said quickly, moving toward him. "You're the captain now. Adamson can't do this, he's down there with Nick, in surgery. You're the only captain we have, and we can't fall apart now. We have to get through this."

He turned away again and slammed his open palm against the wall, leaning into it heavily. The impact had jarred his injured shoulder painfully. "I can't do this. Not after… everything."

"You have to, Jim," she said, getting more stern at his insistence.

"When the siren went off," he said, suddenly rounding on her again, "the last thing I said to her was an order. She was… I pushed her away and I gave her an order."

"I didn't say a thing to her," she whispered. "I didn't even look her in the eyes. I knew she was there, but I didn't... I thought I was protecting her. And she was protecting me. And now... I can't even..." she trailed off, wiping her eyes and sniffling. "And I wish she hadn't. I don't want any of this, if people die for it," she added vehemently, waving a hand at the ship. "But you and I don't get to hand it off. It's ours."

He took a deep breath. "It's not your fault, Alanna."

"I know!" she nearly shouted. "I know! But I thought, if anyone knows what... what's going through my head... it's _not_ Monteblanc. Or Natalya and Mignonette." She looked down and scuffed the toe of her slipper on the wood. "They took Nick's side."

He looked down at her, the top of her golden head just below his eye level. She was going to be a spectacular leader. He could see it already.

"She would be mad at both of us now," he said with a weak little smile, opening his good arm for her.

"She can be as mad as she wants" she grumbled, leaning into him for support. "As long as she's alive to yell at… you."

"Just me?" he asked, surprised by the laugh in his chest.

Alanna pulled back and gave him a small smile. "Just you. She has always had trouble with authority figures."

He smiled, but it quickly turned sad. "Yes she did."

"Does," she corrected, stepping back and looking up at him. "She's not gone yet."

"I know."

"We'll find him, Jim. We'll make him answer for this," she offered.

"I'm counting on it," he growled , heading back down the corridor.

-*-*-*-  
_0545_

Moder was drumming the fingers of his left hand on the table top. His right hand was in a cast, strapped tight against his chest. He hunched over, breathing in the muddy, sour steam from the coffee in front of him.

There were twenty-odd men in the room. No one spoke. There were plates of food and cups of coffee scattered all over the tables, but no one ate. The grief was heavy in the air. A new pair of feet came down the stairs. The newcomer was acknowledged silently.

Jim sat down across from Moder. He pushed a bit of hard bread around on his plate, and swirled the coffee in his tin cup, but made no effort to eat. Moder watched him for a moment, wondering what to say to this man. His captain, now.

"How is Joche?"

Moder blinked, more surprised by the broken silence than by the question itself. "Not sure. I heard they couldn't fix it. Not sure whether they'll give him a new knee or a new leg..."

Jim nodded, his expression somber.

"How is Nick?" Moder ventured.

Jim sighed. "I have no idea."

Moder nodded. The silence stretched out for several minutes. He tapped his fingers in a steady, unbroken rhythm.

"So you knew."

Jim looked up. Their eyes met across the table. Jim nodded slowly.

"The whole time?" Moder raised an eyebrow.

"Not the whole time. As though that makes a difference."

Moder sighed and leaned back, folding his good arm over the other against his chest. He regarded his captain carefully. Jim met his eyes equally. No further explanation. No attempt to justify his actions. As though he simply expected Moder to understand.

He did.

"I hope she makes it," Moder offered, testing the waters.

"Me too."

_0600_

Alanna stared across the room at the man who would be her husband.

"Thank you for all of your help," she acknowledged, nodding her head.

"The pleasure is mine, I assure you," he replied, inclining his head in return. "I trust that your journey, with the notable exception of the past day, was uneventful, no?" he inquired.

"Far from it. And I would have died of boredom were it so," she replied, ignoring her father's advice from months before and letting him have the full brunt of her stubbornness right out of the gate. But he was handsome, and his voice was deep and soft and his accent was just heavy enough to make her mouth dry, so she had put up all of her defenses.

A small smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. Good. He had some sense of humor.

"I cannot fault you for that. Though I do insist on hoping that it was less exciting than recent events. Or should I be doubly grateful to your crew?"

"I owe them my life," she said quietly.

"Then certainly I owe them more than gratitude," he agreed, unclasping his hands from behind his back and taking a small step toward her. "I have been waiting a long time to meet you, and I would have been put out to find that you did not make it here after all."

She raised an eyebrow, but his sentiment seemed genuine. For the first time in years, she didn't know what to say. "Thank you, Your Highness," she managed eventually, adding the title out of respect.

"Certainly you may call me Alex. I hardly think that you should need to address me like that, your, what was it? I practiced. Your Imperial Majesty. Soon to be your Imperial and Royal Majesty, when you are a Princess to my people as well."

"And will you become Emperor?" she asked. "When I left home, my father said that you had not decided yet."

"I still have not," he admitted, his hands going behind his back once more.

"Why is that, if I may be so bold?"

He gave her that little twitch of a smile again. "I would hope that being bold is something of a habit. I find that it's helpful in most political instances. I wanted to meet the Empress first," he informed her, lifting his chin. "To see whether she needed an Emperor, or a consort."

She felt a little burn of pride in her veins. "And what is it that I need?" she asked, only barely keeping her temper from her voice.

"_Qui vivra, verra_," he said nonchalantly, with a little shrug of his shoulder. "Time will tell. I will be sure to let you know before the coronet is ordered."

Alanna looked at him oddly, but he only smiled. "Are you teasing me about this?" she asked, even more bluntly than was her norm.

His smile grew wider. "Teasing? What is this word? I do not know that we have an equivalent..."

"_Vous me taquinez_?" she asked, her grasp of his language as flawless as her tutors could make it.

He laughed, throwing his head back with delight. "I am caught! _Oui, mon petit. Je vous taquine_. I do not plan to become Emperor unless you would like me to. I have no designs on a crown of any sort."

She blinked at him, putting on her coldest mask to be sure he didn't notice her surprise. No crown? "I will believe it when I see it," she told him, though she attempted to soften her cynicism slightly.

He nodded, his smile fading somewhat. "I do not blame you."

She gave him the slightest of curtsies, and excused herself. She needed to speak with her captain, and then she would return to finish their paperwork.

_1200_

Jim sat at the desk in his temporary quarters, staring out the window.

_Yeh don' say? _The _Jim Hawkins? Beggin' yer pardon, sir. Ah should 'ave practiced mah curtsey._

He shut his eyes tightly, scrubbing his face with his good hand.

_Go on, mate. Tell 'er it'll be okay. Tell 'er that ye'll save 'er, Jim._

Jim had to take several deep breaths to calm the rising nausea.

_What'll ye tell me once she starts beggin' ye t' save 'er?_

Anything. Everything.

Jim jumped to his feet and nearly flipped the desk in his haste. The inkwell spilled, staining the papers strewn across the top of the desk. He made an inarticulate sound, picked up the inkwell and hurled it at the wall. The glass shattered, and the ink sprayed everywhere, but it wasn't enough. It didn't make up for the anger.

The burden of causing his father's departure had never lightened. He had held himself responsible for Mr. Arrow's death. He had been furious with the world when Eddie died. He had felt survivor's guilt after every battle he had ever fought in. Nothing held a candle to this.

The black ink dripped down the wood, puddling on the floor. Jim watched it for a moment, and it flashed crimson in his mind's eye. He flung open the door and stormed out, ignoring the man in the hall who was upset about the crash and the mess.

He didn't know where he was going, but it was out, it was away, it was possibly up, and it was most assuredly not here.

He asked a few questions, broke a few rules, and got himself into a longboat to jump ship and locate the only person in this fleet that he trusted to tell it to him straight.

Silver was walking down the corridor outside the infirmary, limping a bit and looking terribly tired. Jim had a feeling he didn't look much better, but he straightened his back and tried to ignore the stupid sling. The cyborg's good eye lit on him, and he smiled broadly.

"'Ey, Jimbo. Good t' see yeh," he sighed.

"You too," Jim replied. "Making yourself useful, hmm?"

Silver nodded at the door to the infirmary. "This was my las' stop t' 'll be gettin' a coupla new cyborgs in yer crew, lad. Don't know if no one tol' yeh."

"I had heard. How many?"

"I'd say we kept about 'alf of 'em whole. The rest'll be back on their feet in a few weeks."

"Did you know Nick was down in the bay with the captain?" Jim asked, unable to wait any longer to ask.

Silver hesitated.

"_Did you know?_" Jim demanded.

Silver nodded. "Aye."

"I told her to find you. I told her you would keep her safe."

"An' I would've. Yer cap'n, God rest 'is soul, asked me t' help 'er majesty. The lass came along wit' me, t' help 'er escape."

"So you brought her with you," Jim asked dully.

"Ah didn' realize!" he protested. "Ah left 'er wit' th' cap'n, Jimbo! Ah couldn've known!"

Jim turned away, his hand in his hair. "She was supposed to stay _out_ of this. I told her to stay _away_ from the fighting, I told her to stay _safe_..."

Silver nodded, looking contrite. "Ah'm sorry, lad. She fell through the cracks. A lot of the lads what died-"

"Stop," Jim growled, turning to face him. "I know. You don't think I know that? But they signed up for this. They trained for this. They stood there and chose between their princess and their lives. They'll be heroes. They died with honor."

"Mebbe that's 'ow Nick feels," Silver tried, shrugging a shoulder.

"Maybe that's not how I feel about it!" Jim shouted.

Silver pressed his lips together sympathetically. "Lad, yeh can't beat yerself up abou' it. Wha's done is done. All yeh can do is be there for 'er, either way."

Jim wanted to punch a wall, or throw something, but his fury was misplaced and he knew it. "Have you heard anything?" he asked after a moment. "You've been in the infirmaries all day. Did they tell you anything? Anything at all?"

Silver sighed heavily, looking down at the lad. "Jimbo..."

"I'm serious."

Silver rubbed the back of his neck, and looked down for a moment. "It ain't good, lad."

Jim's stomach dropped through the floor, and he fell back a step. "What?"

"It ain't good. A body ain't meant to take tha' kinda shot."

Jim was dazed, nodding as he tried to absorb this. "And... is she gonna make it?"

Silver's mouth twisted. "Ah wish Ah knew, lad."

The young captain tried to rally himself, but it failed. He turned away from Silver and took a deep breath.

Silver reached out and patted his shoulder, trying to comfort him. "Jimbo..."

"Stop," he whispered.

"Ah'm sorry, lad."

Jim shook his head. The silence stretched on infinitely. "I feel like... it's my fault," he said eventually.

Silver gripped his good shoulder tightly. "Jim, she's been 'appier than I ever thought t' see 'er. Yeh changed 'er life. And if it's over now, well... Someone will miss 'er. From where Ah'm lookin', seems she wouldn'a had tha' anywhere else."

Jim thought his chest would cave in from the weight of the grief that pressed down on him. But he swallowed hard and held it at bay for now.

It was a long time before either man spoke again.

"Why did Archer recognize my name?" he asked suddenly, turning to the cyborg.

"Wha'?" Silver was startled by the question.

"Archer. He asked Nick for my name, and he recognized it. He called me '_The_ Jim Hawkins'."

Silver's eyes widened, and he stepped back. "Well, lad, yeh made a bit of a name fer yerself.."

"In the Navy. In the small crowd of people who actually know that Treasure Planet ever existed. Among a few scientists, maybe, thanks to Doc. But not among pirates. You were the only one who got away. No one else could have told Archer."

The older man frowned. "Are yeh sayin' I had sommat t' do wit' this?"

"No," Jim scowled, though it had occurred to him. "But why would Archer know who I was?"

Silver scratched his stubbled chin, looking perplexed. "Well, 'e was 'untin' th' treasure 'round th' same time as I was... Per'aps 'e got wind of yeh."

Jim made a face. "It was more than that... It was like he actually knew me."

-*-*-*-  
_1215_

"Is there nothing you can tell me?"

"I'm sorry, your highness," the nurse answered, looking worried.

"She's been in surgery for hours," Alanna protested, leaning this way and that to try to look into the room. "Since last night. Has no one said anything?"

"They won't make a report until she's either stable, or… or…"

"Or dead," Alanna finished. "I understand. She is very dear to me, a personal friend. You will tell me if anything happens, won't you?" she pleaded.

"Of course, yo-"

There was a commotion, a sharp, mechanical keening, urgently high-pitched beeps, a flurry of activity.

"Pardon me," the young nurse said quickly, rushing off.

Alanna started after her, pushing past the others in the hall.

"-_no pulse_-"

"-intubate, now!"

"Sir, I-"

"-_bleeding again! Stop it_-"

"Still no pulse! Sir, she's gone!"

Alanna felt a cold wave wash over her skin, and the blood rushing in her ears drowned out the sound. Oh, God.

Nick.

Oh, who would tell Jim?

"Clear!"

There was a roar of noise as the world came back to her, and she blinked away the tears that had begun to fall.

"-again! Clear!"

The keening was replaced by a steady, high-pitched beep.

"-clear of the fragments before you close her up."

"Find where she's bleeding and-"

Alanna slumped back hard against the wall, her fist pressed to her mouth. Nausea rose in waves and she wept silently, shaking all over.

A nurse left the room and Alanna looked up into the open doorway. A crowd of doctors huddled around the table. She could see Nick, just barely, under a mess of wires and tubes and monitors.

She closed her eyes again. The monitor still beeped steadily. She took a deep breath to regain her composure, and attached her hopes to that steady rhythm. The same nurse she had been speaking to before returned to her side.

"Your highness? I'm sorry you had to see that. She's stabilized now… they are going to finish surgery in a few hours, and we'll send someone for you then."

Alanna nodded and managed some kind of thanks, and wandered off.

It took her forever to find Jim. He was sitting in the rigging of one of the smaller ships in the fleet, staring out into space, with the cyborg cook leaning on the railing beside him. As she approached, he passed a flask down, and the cook pocketed it. Alanna cleared her throat and the cook straightened up.

"Mr. er… Sylvan, was it?"

"Aye, yer 'ighness."

"Thank you for all you've done today. You served your empire honorably. Might I have a word with the Captain?" she asked gently.

Jim sighed heavily and rose to jump down onto the deck. The cook inclined his head and left without another word.

"Is there news?"

"Did you actually want news? You've deliberately made it difficult to bring you any."

He looked chastised, and looked out into the abyss with a heavy sigh. "Alanna, I'm trying to breathe. I did as much as I could, and then I had to find some space."

She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Your duties don't end when you decide they do, Jim," she scolded, as mildly as she could. "Your men will be looking for you."

"And if they want to, they'll find me. You did."

"I have been looking for you for more than an hour," she retorted. "And I find you drinking in the rigging with the ship's cook."

He looked at her sourly. "Please don't lecture me, Alanna."

"You have responsibilities, Captain."

"Don't you think I know that!?" he cried. "I just… I can't focus, Alanna. It's been less than 24 hours. I can't do this yet. Not full-time. Not while she's… she's fighting for her life."

There was a long stretch of silence. She warred with herself over whether to tell him what she had seen.

"We need to head back," she sighed. "There are things to be done, and you need some rest."

_1530_

By the time she found her way back to the office she was borrowing, she was exhausted. She just needed to file a few more reports and respond to a few more correspondences. Then she'd be able to sleep.

Hopefully.

She threw open the door and stopped dead in her tracks. Alex stood up from his desk, startled. Alanna sighed, closing her eyes in mortification. "I'm sorry, I just-"

"Would a cup of tea help?" he asked softly, raising an eyebrow.

Her nose prickled uncomfortably, and she sniffled. "Yes, thank you."

He got up from his desk and moved around, making room for her at a little table by the side of his. She laid the file of papers down on it and looked up to thank him, but he'd already gone. She sighed again and sat down at the chair to start on her paperwork.

A few minutes later a cup of tea appeared at the edge of her vision. Alex gave a little smile when she looked up in surprise, and nudged the cup toward her. "Long morning?" he asked, slightly teasing.

She nodded, swallowing hard. "The longest I can remember."

"I'm sorry," he said gently.

Alanna nodded slightly as she took a sip of her tea and returned to her paperwork. "Thank you."

Time passed silently as they worked. It was the ringing of the bells at the watch change that roused her from her task, and she rubbed at her eyes and got to her feet to stretch as she realized how late it had gotten. Her vision was blurry and her back ached, and she just wanted to sleep.

"Alanna?" came a hesitant voice. His accent had thickened, and he sounded tired.

"Yes?" she responded, sighing as she turned.

He pushed back from his desk and got to his feet also, moving closer to her and laying a hand on her shoulder. "I wanted to be sure I said that, if you need me… I know that our situation is not ideal. But I am here for you. And I want to do what I can to help you."

She looked up at him, his brown eyes regarding her warmly. "I… thank you. Thank you very much…" she said softly. "I um…I…"

Without much preamble, she dissolved into tears, feeling the tension in her shoulders and spine dissolve away, and the fears and grief creep in.

She leaned into him slightly, letting him wrap that arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, wiping at her eyes. "I'm sorry. Th-thank you. That means… a lot."

He patted her back gently, relieved that she had welcomed his offer. "You are most welcome, Princess."

She pulled herself together the best she could, trying to find her composure. When she met his eyes again, he looked sad. Not pitying- just sad. She couldn't put her finger on why.

"Is there anything that I can do?"

She shook her head immediately, too used to handling things on her own.

"Is there anything I can just… listen to?" he asked, smiling at her surprise.

Alanna smiled back, despite herself. "I, um... I don't know. I'm just…"

He pulled back slightly and she knew that he could tell she didn't want to trust him.

"I was in the hospital bay earlier, trying to see Nick," she admitted, taking a deep breath. "Our cabin bo-girl. She was… she was still in surgery. They wouldn't let me in. And while I was standing there, she..." her voice trailed off, and she pressed her hand to her mouth. "She died."

His reaction was swift, and startlingly compassionate. He caught her free hand in his own, giving her the briefest little squeeze.

"They revived her, they brought her back. I could hear it… but still. She died. On that table. While I watched.."

Alex's expression was unreadable, but his voice was gentle. "You don't have to tell Captain Hawkins," he soothed.

Tears prickled in her eyes again. "Someone will."

"It doesn't have to be you, _chere_. The universe is not on your shoulders. Or, at least, not _only_ on your shoulders. Someone else can tell him. Once her condition is clear, one way or the other, someone will tell him. And it need not be you bearing the bad news all the time."

She nodded and squeezed his hand in return. "Thank you. And, actually… there is something you can help me do."

_1830_

Jim had been part of Navy funerals before. He'd just never had to give one.

The line of canvas-wrapped bodies, carefully prepared for burial in space, waited on the Galaxy's deck. He had put off the service for more than a day, telling himself that the men who had been wounded would want to be present, and needed another day. But now he sat at the captain's desk with a sheet of parchment that held only a few drops of ink and no eulogy. He had no words for this tragedy. For his failures.

He crumpled the paper and threw it aside. It was no use. His mind was still everywhere. He had no sense of the passage of time, grief was still distant, and guilt was a constant companion. Being numb would have been welcome, but he couldn't even manage that. There was too much to do.

He got up from his chair and paced, scrubbing a hand over his face. Stubble rasped on his jaw, and he realized he hadn't shaved in…a day and a half? Had he showered? Yes, he was fairly sure he had. There had been a shower at some point . He probably needed another before the funeral, though. Was it time yet? A glance at the window told him it was just before dusk. He sighed and shoved his hands through his hair. Why? Why had he agreed to this? To any of this? Why was he captain now? He was barely qualified for this. His record as a captain began with concealing a woman on board a ship, failing to prevent a pirate's attack on the future empress, and the deaths of more than a dozen crewmen, officers, and their captain.

An inauspicious beginning, to say the least.

He was doing the dead men a disservice though, insisting that their memorial be on his deserved their rest. He had begun the letters home to their families, and had insisted on hand-writing each and every one when the Myamins offered to send them out via a mass transmission. They would do that too, most likely, so that the Navy could inform their families sooner, but Jim wanted a letter to arrive for each man, so that his family would know...

He collapsed back into his chair with a lump in his throat. He had done nothing right. And he didn't _want_ to. He didn't want to do any of this. He didn't want the responsibility. He had clearly lost track of his priorities in the last six months.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He called out that it was open. Alanna let herself in, leaving the door ajar as she entered. She opened her mouth to speak, but her brows dropped when she saw his expression. "What's the matter?"

He shook his head. "Just... the funeral today."

She chewed on her lower lip, and the silence stretched for several long moments. "It wasn't your fault, Jim. I know everyone keeps telling you that," she added quickly, holding up a hand to stem his protests. "But it really wasn't. In a few weeks, when things have settled down, you'll be able to see it. You did everything you could, and it wasn't enough. But there was nothing you could have done differently. I promise. I would tell you if there was. We were outnumbered, and outgunned. And technically," she paused, her mouth twisting with distaste, "you _did_ accomplish your mission. I'm here. And as much as I want to punch the next person who tells me they are so glad that I'm safe, when there are so many wounded and dead, the truth is that you did what the paperwork asked of you. This mission will be logged as a success."

He took a deep breath, nodding as he looked down at the desk. "Thanks," he croaked eventually.

"You're welcome. And like I said, the worst they can do is free you up to be my own private captain," she teased him.

He laughed wryly, shaking his head. Somehow, her words had eased the knot of guilt he'd let build in his chest, and he did feel a little better. "Was there something you needed?" he asked, remembering that she had come looking for him.

"Yes. Alexander needs to speak with you," she admitted, folding her arms across her body. He watched her for a long moment, then set his pen down.

"Lead the way."

_1840_

Standing at attention across the ornate stateroom from the Myamin prince made Jim feel more like a cabin boy than a captain.

Alexander looked up with a light smile and beckoned Jim forward. "You may- how do they say?" he asked, turning to Alanna, "be at ease?" When she smiled he looked back up at Jim. "For the moment, we are equals. One new-made captain to another."

Jim nodded, but couldn't smile. Alexander was just the kind of good-looking, confident man that set Jim's teeth on edge. He was perfectly comfortable with the power he was born to, and looked like he'd never struggled for a moment with the kind of insecurity and doubt that had plagued Jim for years. He was all set to dislike this man from the start.

But then Alexander settled into his desk, folding his hands and regarding Jim warmly. "I owe you a great debt, Mr. Hawkins. Your crew sacrificed much, keeping my betrothed safe. I hope to be able to repay that."

His mouth opened before his brain engaged. He just barely bit back his instinctive request, and shut his mouth again. Alanna saw, and the pity in her eyes tightened his jaw. "You honor me," he replied stiffly, inclining his head.

Alexander watched the exchange with a sharp curiosity, but didn't ask. They might never be friends, but that fact alone earned him Jim's grudging respect.

"I understand that your crew has been given orders to return home, yes? I also understand that your crew has been... reduced. We will do all we can to repair your ship, and your men."

Jim nodded, feeling rather more grateful to this man than he was comfortable with. He shifted his left arm in the sling, trying to subtly scratch an itch. "Thank you, sir," he said quietly.

Alexander leaned back in his chair and eyed Jim up. "You do not wish to discuss this now."

"No, sir," he admitted.

"Would there be a better time?"

Jim looked at Alanna, wishing he could say 'yes'. "No, sir."

"It is because of Nick, is it not?"

Jim had not blushed so furiously since he was sixteen. "No, sir," was the only response he could manage, and that barely made it out between his clenched jaws.

The prince waved a hand at his denial. He leaned forward on his elbow, searching Jim's face intently. "Would you like to wait to discuss these things?"

Jim was stoically had no answer to that. He knew he ought to thank the prince for the aid to his crew, but he didn't much feel like being gracious.

"I am sorry for what has happened to you because of us," Alex said quietly.

Jim was taken aback. His jaw worked silently several times, but managed no sound.

"It would have been the worst thing, I imagine," Alex continued. "And yet, when you arrive home, you expect that the two of you will be punished, no? Because she is a woman, and because you love her."

A muscle twitched in Jim's jaw. "Yes, sir,"

"I would offer her sanctuary," he said gently. "It is a small thing in comparison, but I think it is what you wanted to ask before."

Jim felt his chest tighten. " That is very generous.." he croaked.

Alexander did not smile. "I could make your crew a gift of my own kingdom and not consider my debt paid." He didn't look away from Jim, but his hand found Alanna's again. "You have made possible our future. I only wish I could do the same."

Jim thought of those last few weeks, the laughing and talking and finding new ways and excuses to spend time together...

"Thank you, sir," he said, his voice rough. He bowed slightly, and dismissed himself.

_1900_

The funeral took place at dusk on the longest day of Jim's life, on the recently-scrubbed and half-repaired deck of the Galaxy. Men on crutches and in wheelchairs were aided by their able-bodied brothers-in-arms. All that could stood with their hats off and faces downcast. Jim turned to the men that remained of his crew. They all watched him closely.

"Seven months ago, we started this mission with one hundred and fifty of the finest men I've ever had the honor of working with. Soon, we'll start our journey back, with one hundred and seventeen of those heroes. We will never forget those that died so that we could have the chance to go home again. We will never forget that our work is the result of their sacrifice. And we will never take their deaths for granted." Jim bowed his head a moment, then turned to face the bodies. His voice rang out, clear and strong as he saluted his fallen men. "We thank you for your service. And we honor you for your sacrifice."

He heard the men behind follow his lead as he dropped his salute, and he turned back to face them. One by one, the men raised their hands and saluted a second time. To him. To their captain.

He didn't know what to do but to return the gesture.


	24. Chapter 24: TOO LATE

**CHAPTER 20: TOO LATE**

Jim sat at the desk and stared out the window at the inky black sky. He'd held a funeral for his fallen comrades. He'd officially accepted his role as captain. He'd finished the most urgent paperwork. He'd paced miles and miles in his borrowed cabin. He'd waited as patiently as he was capable.

He was done waiting.

He got to his feet and stripped the sling off his arm to pull his jacket on , taking a deep breath through his nose. He needed to know what was happening. He was going out of his mind.

He slipped down the corridors as quietly as he could, winding his way through the sleepy ship to find the infirmary. Doctors and nurses were in motion, conversation carried across the halls. Most of it was in Myamin and he didn't understand much. He looked around desperately for her face, for anyone who looked like they could help him.

"Excuse me?"

The nurse looked at him in confusion, tipping her head to the side.

"Er, um… _pardon_?" he tried again.

Her expression cleared. "_Parlez-vous Terran_?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed, relieved. "Terran! Yes. Please. Does someone speak Terran?"

"_Docteur_!"

Several men responded to her call, but another string of clarifying gibberish narrowed the field to the man she meant for Jim to speak with. The man in question approached cautiously, and a rapid conversation that Jim couldn't follow ensued.

"And who are you?" the older man asked, looking Jim over.

Jim straightened his spine and met his gaze evenly. "Captain James Hawkins of the RLS Galaxy. I've come to check on one of your patients."

"Just one?" he asked, sounding surprised. "We've quite a few of your crew down here."

"I know that. I've been getting pretty steady reports on most of them. But you have a girl down here, about 18 years old, with a gunshot wound to the stomach. How is she doing?"

The doctor frowned and shook his head, giving Jim a sharp sense of disapproval. "Sonny…"

"She was working as our ship's cabin boy, and she's a dear friend of the Princess's. I don't currently give a damn what you think of my asking, but I need to know how she's doing."

"Not well," the man said flatly, turning away. "Come along."

Jim followed a pace behind, his heart in his throat. "Not well? What does not well mean?"

"It means not well. She was in surgery most of yesterday. That shot took out a large part of her abdomen. There was severe blood loss, damage to her internal organs. The blast caught her two lowest ribs and ripped them away too. The fragments may still cause her some trouble. She should have died. She might still die. They've had to resuscitate her twice-"

A sudden rush of blood in Jim's ears drowned out the rest of the doctor's sentence. Another man walked right into Jim's back, and he realized he'd stopped dead in the corridor.

The doctor's voice broke into his shock. "Come along, Captain."

He stirred and shook himself to clear his head. "She died...?"

"They resuscitated her twice on the operating table. She's as stable as we can get her for now, but her condition isn't good. She needs more surgery, more advanced medicine than we carry on board." They stopped outside of a room, and the doctor checked a clipboard on the wall. "She's not really allowed visitors. Are you by any chance her next of kin?" he asked sardonically.

"I am all she has in this world," Jim said flatly, daring the doctor to challenge his right to be in there. "If it would make you feel better, I can get her Imperial Highness down here to vouch for me."

The doctor sighed and opened the door to Nick's room. Jim didn't even acknowledge the sigh of protest. His eyes were fixed on the figure in the bed, covered with wires and monitors, her face almost completely obscured by a mask holding a tube down her throat..

He felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He shoved past the doctor, past any and everything that had been working to keep him from her side for days.

"She's very fragile. Don't try to wake her," the doctor chided.

"When will she wake up?" Jim breathed, staring at her. Between the bruising and the machinery, she hardly looked like Nick.

"In a few hours to a few days. She suffered a massive trauma, Captain. And severe blood loss. The rest of the crew- the enlisted men- all stored up blood before they launched. We were able to use those stores in their surgeries. Miss Morgan did not store up her blood, as a last minute addition to the crew. And she isn't a match to any of their blood types. It wouldn't work. We had a few pints of a universal human type to give her during the surgery, but it isn't doing the trick."

Jim stepped closer to the side of the bed, trying very hard to find his Nick underneath all of it. Her eyes were closed, with a bruise encircling one and a grayish purple smudge beneath the other. Her skin was pale beneath her tan. She looked so small now. He found her hand at the edge of the bed, and slipped his into it. "What are her odds?" he asked.

"I couldn't begin to guess. We'll do everything we can, and she's been strong so far. But it's out of our hands now."

He nodded, still watching her sleep. She didn't seem to be in pain. That was good. He wasn't sure whether he was relieved to have seen her, or if shock had finally set in. When he heard the door shut, he leaned in over Nick, brushing her hair back from her face and kissing her forehead. She was cool to the touch, which was strange. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She was silent and still. He wished her eyes would open, so he could see that something of her had made it out alive… He was torn between wanting to hold her and being terrified to break her.

He pressed his temple to hers, closing his eyes and whispering by her ear. "I'm so sorry, Nick," he whispered. "I'm so, so sorry. I wish I could take it all back. I'd do it so differently…" He felt his eyes burn, and swallowed hard. "I love you," he croaked. "I wish I'd told you that."


End file.
